


Dans une expression allant grandissant

by orphan_account



Series: En animant jusqu'a la fin [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: #demisexualOtabek2K17, ((there is sex though u have been warned)), Anxiety, College AU, Jjbek, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), VictUuri, alternate title: pancakes and piano, hockey lmao for one chapter, panic disorder, pianist!otabek, they're both music majors, this story is not about sex it's about a relationship, vocalist!JJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Otabek is wrong, JJ's not entirely what he seems, and everything will turn out differently, in the end. But, it's probably gonna be alright.





	1. Chapter 1

Otabek's first impression of his roommate was not a great one.

J _ean-Jacques Leroy, but you can call me JJ._ _Vocal performance major._ There was a handshake and then he'd stepped into their dorm, duffel bag and suitcase in tow. _This is where I'll be spending the next 8 months of life, eh?_ A boisterous laugh; he'd looked into the two bedrooms and proceeded into the one that was still bare.

Maybe it was the obvious extraversion that Otabek instantly knew would be an adjustment compared to home life back in Kazakhstan. Maybe it was the fact that JJ was a head taller than him and had the same undercut. Maybe it was jetlag and the first bit of homesickness setting in. Regardless, Otabek knows he's always been the quiet sort, and despite having resolved to come out of his shell and try and make friends at the Canadian university, he doesn't attempt to make conversation as they both settle in. In fact, he leaves the dorm to go walk around campus and get his identification card stickered. Kicks up the leaves on the ground with the new shiny yellow-brown brogues his parents got him as a going-away gift.

His family's well-off, the only way they can afford the international student fees here, and so at least Otabek feels like he can dress well; comparing himself to other students laughing and walking and longboarding around campus, he doesn't find himself out of place. He can speak English fluently so that won't be a problem. Looking around, it's already struck him that there's a very diverse collection of ethnicities here anyways. He's been taking piano lessons ever since age 8 and so he thinks he's prepared to begin a piano performance major. So then why is his stomach unsettled, and why is he nervous?

Maybe he's getting older and he wants more out of life than just what he's ready to accept.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Otabek's tried to guess if JJ is an early riser or not, bets on the latter, and loses. He's toasting bread and getting eggs to fry (although he's not under the illusion that he'll have time to make such complete breakfasts once classes begin) when he hears noises from JJ's room and the shower go on. Otabek's just finished going through his Facebook feed and put his food on his plate when JJ walks (or swaggers? not quite, strides? strides, maybe) into the small kitchen/dining area, hair shining and wet, wearing a red-orange Roots sweater.

"Hey hey, morning," JJ says too cheerfully and grabs a glass out of a cupboard, fills it with water and gulps it down. Otabek nods as he decides whether to sit or stand; there's nowhere really to put his plate so he has to sit at the table. "Fancy breakfast," JJ says. "Where you from?"

"Kazakhstan, just here for university," Otabek replies.

"Oh, sweet," JJ says, eyebrows rising. He has very blue eyes. "I'm from around here. Born and bred. Hey, you didn't mention what program you're in."

Otabek chews and swallows a bite of egg hurriedly. Conversation while eating is such an annoyance. He wishes JJ would let him be. "Piano performance," he says.

"Oh that's perfect! We probably have some theory classes together. And I have to do some piano proficiency exams for credit. I know some piano already. I could take classes or just challenge it. Probably not as good as you though." JJ laughs.

Otabek gives him a short smile. So the morning goes: JJ tries to talk to him, or, well, maybe just talks whether or not Otabek will talk back or not. But JJ discovers Otabek's weak spot, piano. He shout-yells at him from their rooms across the hallway as they both unpack their stuff.

"So, do you guys do RCM in Kazakhstan or what? What grade are you?" JJ asks.

"I finished grade 10 this summer," Otabek replies. He takes out the family photo and puts it on his bedstand: his mother, his father, Alina his sister, a few years younger.

"Niiiiiice," he hears JJ respond. "Yeah, I can probably play like a grade 7 level or something. Enough to entertain everyone with Fur Elise."

Otabek smirks to himself. The idea of this JJ playing Fur Elise (and probably pedalling it badly, at least in Otabek's imagination) is funny for some reason.

"But I might ask you for help sometimes. We can help each other out, right? You probably have to take choir, yeah?" JJ continues.

"Yes," Otabek responds. Either that or learn a woodwind instrument, the last thing on his to-do list.

"There we go. I sing, you play, we swap, good grades for everyone." Somehow JJ's at his door, grinning and leaning into his personal space. (Otabek knows he has a fairly large personal space bubble and feels protective of it.

"Sure," Otabek says noncomittally as he makes short shrift of putting shirts and jackets on hangers and lodging them in the small closet.

"So, what uh, piano pieces you play? Do you have a favorite composer? I don't know, what do piano people talk about?" Somehow JJ's still determined to make conversation, but this topic is something Otabek will respond to whether he wants to or not.

"Yes, for the exam my teacher made me learn an AR piece first before I could play the one I wanted. You've probably never heard it. Cordoba by Albeniz." The imagery in that one is beautiful even if it's not a famous or particularly challenging piece.

JJ shakes his head no.

"But I also learned Liebestraume no. 3. That was fun too. Although my favorite composer is probably Schubert. I want to learn Schubert's piano sonata in E flat major. And Chopin's Revolutionary Etude."

"Oh yeah, I sang Erlkonig last year," JJ says. "I wouldn't mind learning Die Forelle."

Otabek personally dislikes the Lied but loves the string quintet, so he just nods. And now he's curious what JJ's voice sounds like. He can't guess from his speaking tone.

"I don't know that much about composers. I guess I'll learn in . . . I think it's MUSI 231? MUSI 233? I don't remember my classes yet," JJ yawns. "But for piano, I like Debussy. Not that I can play anything by him. Maybe I'll get good enough this year," he says. Otabek again smirks internally. You don't go from grade 7 to grade 10 in eight months. JJ walks off back to his own room, humming something that sounds too much like a pop song. "Also, I see you have several nice scarves. Hide them," JJ says-shouts back as an anecdote. Otabek doesn't really get this statement and doesn't bother to find out.

He sort of wishes he would have got a fellow piano major as a roommate. They could have better conversation.

Otabek's mind wanders to more practical things. He doesn't have his schedule memorized yet, and he determines to walk around campus and find the indoor routes to his classrooms for when it gets colder. With any luck, JJ won't have the same idea at the same time.


	2. Chapter 2

Otabek sits near the front in his classes (which have around 400 students each with some are split into multiple blocks) but he doesn't follow up with his own plan of making an effort to be a little bit more extroverted. Everything his parents and school teachers and authority figures in general have said about _networking is important_ goes out the window because everyone's too loud and happy about the wrong things. If you're going to be spending a small fortune on an education, then get that education, Otabek thinks as seven out of nine of the students in the row in front of him spend the second lecture in MUSI 211 (basic theory, which will be not too challenging since he's completed intermediate harmony) scrolling through social media and texting.

The hours of his day Otabek looks forward to the most are either private lessons or private practice. His instructor is Lilia Baranovskaya, a Russian pianist who's got a few international tours under her belt and quite a few awards. She's stern, tight-lipped, well-dressed, and very to-the-point; exactly what Otabek wants, and probably what no one else does.

Well, he gets his sonata in E flat, but not Revolutionary Etude. Instead, he's allowed to choose between Polonaise in A flat or F sharp minor. Otabek has a thing against the Herioc so he goes for the F sharp minor.

Even though no one else is praticing or studying in the first week, Otabek dutifully shows up to Studio B1-2 every day and fulfills his 3 hours and more.

"Where do you practice? Can I chill there?" JJ asks him the next week. "Maybe your skill will rub off on me." He laughs. Otabek doesn't find it very funny.

"What will you do, just listen to me play scales?"

"I can study at the same time. I have history as an option."

Otabek just shrugs to mean, no, I'd rather you not.

He's never really liked being in large groups of people and he's reminded of that during the first few choir practices for his ensemble requirement. It's always noisy, whether they're actively warming up and singing or not. Luckily Otabek's a bass and gets to stand in the back.

Not like he isn't making any friends though. He shares theory with JJ and purposefully sat on the opposite side of the classroom, just so happened to be beside a Japanese student by the name of Yuuri Katsuki. Another international student but he's been here for a year already, saying he switched majors from engineering to piano performance as well.

As the week goes on Otabek gives subtle attention to JJ's half of the classroom where he seems to be making friends just fine. Although Otabek wouldn't like to believe he envies JJ's social popularity it's a little true. It would just be nice to not have to know that if Yuuri doesn't make it, he really won't have anyone to sit with.

Yuuri shows up as accompanist to the choir which is a welcome surprise. When they're not collectively hooting or singing arpeggio'ed vowels up and down rising key signatures or making forced ff sounds through their teeth (Otabek doesn't particularly enjoy singing for these reasons) Otabek will step down off the back risers to lean on the side of the baby grand and talk with Yuuri. They mostly talk piano, of course, but Otabek gleans some about Yuuri's family who live in Hasetsu, Japan and own a hot springs.

"What do your parents do?" Yuuri asks him, tapping his fingers on his pants, the hubbub of the choir strong behind them as everyone waits for music to be passed out or something.

"My mother works for an airline and my father is an engineer. He works in uranium mining. But my mother is a wonderful violinist, and she can also play some piano."

Yuuri nods. "I don't know who I got it from. I'm not really that good anyways."

"I can't hear anything wrong with your playing."

"I feel like since everyone's a year younger, I'm behind compared to them." Yuuri looks down.

Otabek gives him a half-smile. "Oh, my roommate probably isn't."

"A piano major?"

"No, vocal. But-"

"Doesn't count then," Yuuri says, and then someone hands Otabek the little thin book of music and he has to rejoin the choir on the risers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You can come sit in on my practice if you really want," Otabek says to JJ one morning on their way to theory (9 a.m. class, and they walk there together despite sitting apart, during which JJ usually babbles the whole way and slows them down by stopping to say hi and talk with students they pass on the way). He doesn't exactly know why.

JJ lights up and the genuine smile gets Otabek a little, some kind of twinge in his gut. "Sweet! When? You'll show me how it's done, right? I'm really rusty, my piano option is gonna kick my ass. Nah, just kidding. I can do it. But some help wouldn't hurt."

Otabek tells him when and where; no sooner than that, then they're at MH162 and split up to take their seats. Celestino, the prof, is standing at the computer and Smart projecter at the head of the room, preparing the day's powerpoint. Otabek greets Yuuri who has left him a seat; he also tosses a look back over his shoulder to where two girls (vocalists as well) and a guy Otabek recognizes from choir let JJ slide into his seat among them like they're an old gang from high school.

Their divergent schedules keep them apart until Otabek signs into B1-2, tosses his coat and backpack on a chair, and sits down at the Yamaha upright to start rattling off technique. JJ doesn't show up right away, which frustrates Otabek because he'd rather have the whole thing settled and squared away sooner than later. Why did he tell JJ he could come again? Maybe it was just because JJ seemed honestly interested.

Otabek lets JJ in when there's a rough knock on the door 15 minutes later. JJ, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, gives the room a quick look around. It's small but there is a window and a lamp by the piano in case students are practicing long hours, which is likely.

"Gross, you have to spend what, four hours a day in here?" JJ says.

"Three minimum," Otabek says, taking his backpack and stuff off the chair and putting it on the floor so JJ can sit down, which he does. "So, do you want to hear an F# minor formula?"

"Anything," JJ says, and leans his elbows on his knees a little close into Otabek's Very Respectable Bubble of Personal Space (he's found he needs to put a higher priority on defending it these days) but far enough away so he won't get hit when Otabek starts or ends.

A quiet sigh and Otabek resumes his practice. It's just natural that you get a little unsteady when someone's watching, but it's JJ (inner scoff) so the shakes disappear in moments.

As Otabek pauses after working up to C major formula, going to the separated 6th scales, JJ says,

"Wow! How do your fingers go so fast?"

"I practice a lot," Otabek says in a flat tone. "You play something now."

"Oh yeah? Sure," JJ says, sounding confident. "You'll probably think it's terrible," he says proudly, sliding onto the bench as Otabek slides off. Again Otabek's reminded of JJ's extra several centimeters he has on him.

JJ approaches the keys hesitantly, true enough, like a grade 7 student. Otabek finds this very amusing. He starts to play Fur Elise. God, how Otabek really doesn't like that song. Well, maybe that's not totally accurate. He hates it when it's played any less than perfect because it's so overplayed that you really shouldn't unless you can.

JJ's pedaling is awful. Otabek wants to kick his foot off the damper. Strangely tense, Otabek listens for the B section with the runs. It's cleaner than Otabek's expecting but played with a insensitive touch. And back into the A section.

He has the hands and fingers of a pianist, Otabek does note. They're long, look like they could be trained to be nimble, and probably he could span a 10th if he wanted. Otabek knows his own hands maybe aren't obviously cut out for piano, but that didn't stop Mozart, he's always told himself.

Into the C section and JJ fumbles to find the right bass note and eventually settles on the A but pounds on it repeatedly with the same finger. Otabek's squirming in his shoes but JJ actually looks like he's enjoying murdering the simple task.

JJ drags on through the last repetition of the A section and smiles happily. "So, how was that?"

"Awful, when did you last practice?" Otabek says.

"Yesterday," JJ says, confidence not flagging.

Otabek pushes his hair back. "I mean, you know the notes but you just hold your pedal down way too long. And you're very heavy handed in the B section. And did your teacher ever tell you how to finger the bass down here?" Otabek taps out a few low As, fingering 3-2-1-3-2-1. "Or at least," he says, and switches to 2-1-2-1-2-1.

JJ observes.

"That's dumb, why do you need to alternate? I played them all just fine with one finger."

"No you didn't," Otabek argues.

"OK, you play it then," JJ smirks.

Otabek nearly shoves him off the bench and produces a very much improved rendition. The pedaling light, the fast passages dancing, the fingering flawless.

JJ claps obnoxiously when Otabek's done.

"Great, so how do I copy that into my hands?" JJ (unexpectedly) grabs Otabek's hands and makes him guess at what next to say for a few sharp moments where his VRBoPS flashes an intruder alert! on the tip of his tongue. He pulls away from the warm grip.

"You can't, you have to practice, like I have to do now," Otabek says.

JJ moves on just like that. "K," he says and flourishes a notepad out of his messenger bag, plops down on the floor and starts reading whatever he's written on it.

Otabek turns back to the keys and his technique.

He's surprised that JJ leaves a full hour later, with a, "Sorry man but I gotta get to vocal coaching," and Otabek manages to not say "It's about time", not that it would have been in a mean tone but rather confused, even pleasantly so.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Over the next couple classes it becomes clear that the left half of the room sort of in the middle-back ranks where JJ sits is where the loud kids sit. Once in a while Otabek is actually listening to what Celestino's saying (he knows most of it already) and the very soft but still annoying evident laughs and murmurs from that area make him want to punch something very violently. He tries to save that nervous energy for the gym. Other students taking the KNES option complain that it isn't an easy A anymore and they'll actually have to show some athleticism, but Otabek's always been conscientious about fitness and so far he's getting along fine. Yuuri, on the other hand, has been running extra morning jogs to try and keep up. It's good for me anyways, he explains. I've already lost some weight, last year. Away from my mom's cooking. Yuuri is level-headed and rational. Otabek enjoys this about him.

JJ doesn't turn out to be the most head-turning character in class, though.

The next week enters another vocalist, everyone soon learns, who's just doing music as a minor and something in business on the side. He's friends with someone else in the class, Chris, so is quickly accepted. Of course, his silver-dyed hair, clean-cut fashion sense, perfect jawline and natural charisma must help. And he doesn't pay much attention to JJ, which gives Otabek some weird sense of satisfaction, though JJ still has plenty of friends and people to talk to instead of walking alone or eating alone.

Otabek doesn't mind. The new environment is too strange and he attributes these feelings of jealousy - jealousy? yes - to just a temporary insecurity.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"His name's Victor?" Otabek asks Yuuri at the beginning of theory one morning, motioning to where the silver-haired man is sitting with his back to the front of the auditorium, on one of the tables, arms crossed and talking animatedly with a couple pianists and violinists on the row behind; JJ looks just as occupied a few rows behind.

"I think so," Yuuri says, doing something on his phone.

"He glanced at you a few times last class."

"Who's watching? Maybe he was glancing at you."

"No, he was glancing at you."

"Don't be weird," and Yuuri puts his chin in a palm and opens up his theory notes, flipping through them idly. "Hey, do you want to go to the Hollow for lunch? Phichit is coming too. He's in software engg, a friend I made last year. He's thinking of working on a really cool capstone project."

Otabek agrees. If someone is Yuuri's friend, Otabek's sure it will be fine.

"Victor was also looking at you during choir yesterday."

"Psh," Yuuri says.

"No, really. You can't tell me no. You can't see him from where you sit."

But they've no time to talk further as Celestino begins the lecture.


	3. Chapter 3

Often Otabek comes back to the dorm and JJ will be sitting on the poor-quality couch with his laptop open and earbuds in, Skype calling his parents, talking rapid-fire in French. Otabek tries to go about his own business of having a drink of water, washing his dish, then quickly and quietly and sequestering himself in his room, but that only works the first time.

The second, he's just put away the glass when JJ says,

"Maman, Papa, meet my roommate, Otabek, from Kazakhstan," and cheerfully cradles his laptop in one arm and walks into the kitchen, turning the webcam to Otabek.

Politely Otabek greets the middle-aged couple on screen, learning their names are Nathalie and Alain. They look kind enough. JJ's clearly inherited his strong brow and dark hair from his father, but his blue eyes are his mother's.

Fortunately the introduction is short, although they do inquire about his major and he's obliged to provide some details. JJ whisks the computer back around to resume the chat soon enough.

At least Otabek's worst fear doesn't come true. JJ is messy but not dirty. He'll leave clean dishes in the wrong places, but they're clean. In fact, and it causes Otabek an eye twinge to say this, JJ's almost more of a clean freak than Otabek himself. Otabek will catch JJ wiping down this or dusting that or washing walls for goodness' sake (that really only has to be done a couple times a year in Otabek's opinion).

"A vocalist can not get sick. My instrument must be in peak condition at all times," JJ asserts when Otabek can't help but ask.

"The walls cannot have a speck of dust but the plates can be stored in whichever cupboard you please," Otabek mutters in response as he collects them all to one place. He glances at JJ who's giving him a ridiculous puppy look.

"Come on, that doesn't matter," he says. Otabek just leaves him to go study a bit for theory.

Surprisingly (suprisingly!), from then on, the plates have a higher probability of collecting in the correct cupboard.

On the weekends, Otabek usually studies, and JJ's gotten involved with a Music Box charity and goes off with friends to do some sort of music for children volunteer work. JJ tried to loop Otabek into it, but he doesn't really like kids and he doesn't have much time.

As for cooking, JJ usually has porridge (or nothing) for breakfast, and Otabek has toast. While Otabek has the financial liberty to buy lunches and dinners in Camme Hall and usually does so, JJ somehow finds the time to go buy groceries and do meal prep on the weekend which is a very large blitz of filling rubbermaid containers with, usually, potatoes and plain vegetables and meat of some sort, sometimes pasta. A week and a half in, Otabek's decided that would be best for his fitness regimen and overall schedule but gnaws a little on how exactly to join in on the ritual.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to invite himself, as JJ asks him one Saturday why he doesn't do meal prep and enthuses about the various benefits. So Otabek has an easy way in, and soon learns that it's just sort of easier if they cook together, buy food together and sort of eat the same thing. As well, Otabek's not very fast at cooking. He'll watch JJ smash garlic cloves and mince them with alacrity, babbling away, while Otabek himself focuses his energy on slicing carrots and is quickly outpaced.

At least they have similar tastes. They both appreciate beef. JJ asks him what Kazakh food he can cook and really the only thing Otabek can make is shelpek (a fact, he has never really done cooking in his life, that was his mother and sister's job). He does, nevertheless, a month into everything one Sunday and JJ praises it to no end. And again Otabek wonders why he agreed to it in the first place.

A lot of things with JJ are like that. Otabek agrees and then regrets it. He doesn't like all the attention and what a big deal JJ makes over nothing. He finds it annoying how JJ isn't serious about piano. He finds JJ's hair annoying. He finds JJ's height annoying. He enjoys how Victor Nikiforov, the unfairly attractive vocalist that transferred in, is a splendid baritone and a shoo-in for the Stammi Vicino solo in the concert the music faculty is already preparing for year end (Agape/Eros, theme: love), although technically everyone's supposed to have a fair shot (and JJ's mentioned often enough he wants the part, and seems to be oblivious of how obvious it is that the directors and profs in charge favor Nikiforov).

It's a week until midterms and auditions for main parts and Otabek and JJ and some other students, who are JJ's friends and not Otabek's, are heading back across campus. Regularly JJ comes to sit in on Otabek's practice time (and gets Otabek to show him how to play his own pieces often enough) from Studio B1-2. They're heading back from such a session. JJ's talking hockey with the group that's following him around, Otabek content to tag along.

Eventually they approach the path that splits to their dorm and JJ waves goodbye to the other students.

"Hey so, I'm auditioning for the concert in a week and half, and they assigned an accompanist just in general for everyone but did you want to accompany me?" JJ asks Otabek.

"What?" Otabek says. He's just picking up a new piece, Samarkand Overture, for the dance faculty's year-end and is lost in thought contemplating the technical challenges associated.

"I'm trying for Stammi Vicino, so that, and uh, maybe Agape, or Still wie die Nacht," JJ says.

"Short notice much, " Otabek laughs. "You're not supposed to do that to an accompanist."

"I know," JJ says. "But like everyone does that. And you're so good learning it that fast won't be a problem."

"Doesn't work," Otabek says. "No, just use their accompanist." Really, why does JJ even need him to accompany? Any pianist will do the job.

"OK well how about my repertoire for midterm exams?"

"Don't they give a general accompanist for that too?" Otabek says.

"Yeah, but . . . . I'll pay you," JJ says, a hint of pleading in his voice.

Otabek shrugs. He doesn't need the money. "You know Nikiforov's going to get Stammi Vicino anyways," Otabek says. He fully expects a response from JJ, something fiery, something that'll make him smirk, but there is just an unexpected silence. Glancing at JJ, he's just looking at the glass panelling of the library that's reflecting pink and orange and yellow in the sunset. And wearing a scarf. Otabek's scarf, he notices. Inwardly, Otabek sighs. He's gotten used to looting JJ's room for his own scarves once every week. No one mentions it. Some sort of weird ritual. JJ steals them and Otabek steals them back.

As they get back to the dorm, Otabek tells JJ he's going out, grabbing his motorcycle jacket and a duffle bag. JJ just says "yep" and plops down on the couch with his laptop and books, but picks up his laptop and leaves his history notes unopened.

Otabek goes out maybe every other weekend and JJ asked him and he said he was just going to see friends in the city and JJ said something like "good for you, you antisocial introvert" (not actually but that's how Otabek received it) and hasn't questioned him since.

Good, otherwise Otabek will never live it down, not in this faculty.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You need to audition for something," JJ says. It's Sunday morning. Otabek's doing his theory assignment that's due at 11:59 p.m. tonight. Which means he's kinda doing both of theirs. In return, JJ's making pancakes.

"You've never heard me sing," Otabek replies.

"You sound like you've got a good voice." The sizzling of butter in the pan and the smell reaches Otabek's nose and his stomach grumbles. JJ hums/sings a snippet of this stupid song Otabek hears all the time now, something about him being the undefeatable King, something he and his friends have as some running joke. Well, he's going to get beat, by Victor Nikiforov. Although Otabek has never heard JJ really sing (perform a song) he doesn't have to. You can tell Nikiforov is the favorite.

Otabek's phone buzzes and he replies to Yuuri's text. He's met Phichit and the three of them hang out sometimes. Phichit is very studious and enthusiastic about his project which involves making MIDI transcription more accurate. He asks a lot of questions, but they're good questions and Otabek doesn't mind answering them.

That's not what Yuuri's texting him about though. Apparently, Nikiforov has asked/demanded that Yuuri be his accompanist for the concert (for the concert! that just says it all about Nikiforov's confidence he's getting the solo) and Yuuri's spilled the context of that request to Otabek, which happened to be Nikiforov lying on top of the lidded baby grand when Yuuri was late packing up from choir practice and thought everyone had gone and apparently giving him A Seductive Look and declaring he wouldn't sing unless Yuuri accompanied him and then "rolling elegantly" off the piano and walking away.

And Yuuri still denies anything when Otabek points out the signs, but at least now, he gets a little flustered.

"Still wie die Nacht would be good," JJ continues. "I'll help you," he says.

Otabek cannot lie. He actually would like to try auditioning for a part. He knows he hasn't got a stellar voice but it is tempting, the bit of recognition you get from a solo and why not try? But he really isn't sure about himself.

"When?" Otabek asks. Maybe he trusts JJ enough for this.

JJ's silent, causing Otabek to turn around and he sees JJ looks surprised that he's accepted the offer.

"Uh today we could go to 6th floor MaDL, after you're done theory," JJ says.

"Sure," Otabek says.

JJ resumes humming away and frying pancakes.


	4. Chapter 4

Otabek was expecting JJ to be as lighthearted of a voice tutor as he is a person in general, but that is not the case. They've booked one of the rooms with a keyboard in it (lucky it's a weekend, otherwise on such short notice they would've had no luck) and JJ steps into this very commanding mantle of teacher. He stands, tapping keys with one hand, and runs Otabek through warmups. Otabek feels a little indignant because he might not be a singer but he's got these simple tasks down (or maybe also because he feels silly making these arpeggiated vowels and _ff_ sounds through his pressed lips without the cushioning context of a hundred other people around him). At least JJ has accompanied him here and there in unison, though it's not really any performance from his roommate, and which Otabek has to admit he'd really like to hear, out of curiousity.

"Right, now you don't know how to practice a solo, do you?" JJ says.

"Just like choir?" Otabek guesses. "Learn the words, learn the tune, put them together?"

"Nope, mon cher, learn the words, trill the song for breath control, sing vowels, then and only then try words! You'll impress them with your German, too, once we're done here. . . "

JJ is being ridiculously out-of-character as he flounces down on one of the mismatched chairs in the room and does something on his phone. Otabek remains standing, idly doing a 3-4 trill on a couple of white keys.

". . . because, lucky for you, I learned the pronunciation myself! Where's your phone? Get your phone, get the lyrics," JJ demands. Otabek does as told. "Has anyone told you you have a resting bitch face?" JJ says, arms crossed, staring down at Otabek with that incessant grin, as Otabek tries to spell the name of the song correctly in the search bar but Google understands him anyways. Startled at this prompt revelation, Otabek just treats JJ to a deeper frown and turns his phone around, tilts it up at JJ to show the page he's found. "Perfect," JJ says. "First word. _Shtill._ "

Glumly Otabek repeats after him but only the first couple words with that attitude, until he remembers he's here because he wanted to be and he wants the part.

"The consonants are everything," JJ lectures him, sticking a finger in the air.

"Is this your alter ego you use for teaching voice? If so, I hope you never teach," Otabek says once they've gone through the whole text.

"What, you've got a problem with your teacher?"

"Not at all," Otabek says.

"Clearly," JJ says, pulling his laptop out of his bag, bringing up a pdf of the sheets, and flopping down at the piano. However, he drops the facade after bumbling through a few chords in the left hand and notes in the right. "Uh, so you can sight-sing, right? Accompaniment later." He stands back up and tilts the laptop towards Otabek, setting it on the table.

"Sure," Otabek agrees. He knows intervals, he knows how to read music, sight-singing can't be all that hard. And it isn't. And JJ makes him trill it solo so it's not too embarrassing.

"Great, so there's the tune, but why are you stopping to breathe so often? This is not choir where everyone else covers up how _terrible_ you are," JJ scolds.

"You didn't tell me where to breathe," Otabek says. Also, he can't trill for longer than that, but that's his last line of defense.

JJ rolls his eyes and points at the music. "Here, here, here, here, and try not here but you can if you need to. But don't. If you want the part."

So Otabek tries to, but can't, and _oh so the problem is with your BREATH control isn't it,_ and, _how would I know_ (crossly from Otabek) and it all ends up with JJ trying to draw a diaphragm on the whiteboard and setting his fist under Otabek's ribs and making Otabek lean against _that_ while trying to trill (while trying to trill!). Of course this has required Otabek to relinquish the VRBOPS, something which he doesn't like to do, so there had better be some payoff.

Unfortunately, not too much luck comes with those techniques.

"Sadly, there's no easy path to success," JJ laments, "and you lack practice. You know what those _ff_ exercises are for, right? You're supposed to do as many as you can on one breath."

 _I see. Makes sense._ "That's what I'm doing now, practicing," Otabek returns, a bit sharply.

JJ breaks character, laughing. "Haha, man I know you're not a vocal major, just saying, you'll have to like, spend some extra time getting this up. OK, anyways let's just do vowels."

Otabek didn't know his voice could actually get tired, which it does, but thankfully it's after they've made it to matching the tune to the lyrics in his head, though he can't produce it properly yet and the higher notes scare his voice thin.

"So, I'm a good teacher, right?" JJ says as they head back.

"I don't know, what are your credentials?" Otabek says.

"Come on," JJ says.

"I've never heard you sing."

"I know, I know, you could if you accompanied me."

Otabek holds his silence. He thinks maybe he shouldn't have mentioned it, or mention it any longer, and give JJ ideas. He's bound to hear him at some point anyways.

"I'm not trying for Still anymore. You'll get that. I'll get Stammi or Agape."

"So confident."

"Ha, Nikiforov's not so damn fine he can just waltz in and pick whichever he chooses."

"I meant about me getting Still."

"Oh."

Otabek looks at JJ who's at first just mildly surprised and then gives him a smile. His eyes are blue, a richer darker blue than what comes to mind at the phrase 'blue eyes', Otabek notices for not the first time, the annoying-nth time.

"Well. You have a good teacher eh?" JJ finishes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Otabek lets JJ know he has his own Skype call with his parents that evening, at 7:00 p.m., which will be 7:00 a.m. his parents' time. He has the very strong hunch that JJ doesn't read this as _please stay in your room or elsewhere_ but instead as _please introduce yourself to my family,_ but Otabek doesn't bother to set out the protocol either way. Maybe it will help his parents feel better about where he's staying, if they meet JJ. Or worse. Who knows. He doesn't exactly come across as the studious type.

But everything goes well. JJ's friendly and says many nice things about Otabek that Otabek is surprised to hear ("he's very neat", "he's studying hard", "he's going to make a great vocalist as well") and it makes Otabek's parents smile, and Otabek frown, just to cancel out his own reaction.

The meeting must go exactly as scheduled for they are off to work soon. Alina flits into the frame for a bit. She's a lot more outgoing than Otabek. Strangely enough, she used to be the quiet child and Otabek the talkative one. They've always gotten along well and Otabek misses her, though he would never tell her. Now with so many miles in between they send each other meme dumps on Messenger. It'll do.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Feeling like studying theory any more will just be a waste of time, Otabek spends some free time practicing voice and enjoying working out more instead of rushing himself through it. It works out that he'll practice piano and JJ will come, and Otabek will help JJ with his pieces (he would be completely dead in the water with Invention no. 15 in B Minor, without Otabek) and then JJ helps Otabek with Still wie die Nacht.

There's a little chagrin and something else that JJ's words at the beginning of the semester, about them helping each other out, are actually coming true.

Actually, JJ has surprised Otabek a bit, because he actually seems to be practicing and improving. Well, he's supposed to, but with all the socializing and goofing off and talking, just pure _talking_ he does, Otabek hasn't expected the passages to clear up so nicely and the fingering to become so second-nature. And not like JJ goes to bed late. His whole I'm-a-vocalist-health obsession. Otabek's the one who packs in at midnight or so with JJ's door having been closed a solid two hours before.

The only conclusion is that JJ is actually a hard-worker and, well, Otabek doesn't like to say it, but he's one of those people who uses his time, all of it. He's volunteering with the music charity, he's practicing solos and his repertoire and piano and helping Otabek and having a social life. Sometimes when Otabek spends his lunches and evenings with his headphones on doing nothing academic he thinks of this and feels like he should be emulating that kind of efficiency, but as long as his grades are good (and they are so far though midterms creep up faster than anyone realizes), he has nothing to worry about. Really all he's concerned with is making his parents proud and not getting into anything too permanent here in Canada.

Or anywhere.

He's learned from _-_ well, speak of wasting time - he'll still open Instagram and look through her profile, at his weakest moments. Doesn't know why he does this when it just brings back up sour feelings.

He has to turn that acidic regret into success here. She _is_ part of the reason he's here, not in Kazakhstan at the National Academy of Music.

He'll never let anyone get that close to him again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There's snow on the ground now, a couple inches. When they (usually they, but sometimes one has to shop alone) take the train to get groceries they sit near the middle to avoid the draft that blows in whenever the doors open at the next stop.

End of October approaches fast and everthing's in rhythm, Otabek's legs will take him to his next class of their own mindless volition. He'll spend time hanging around with Yuuri and Phichit when they aren't busy, either. Voice-teacher-JJ has lectured him on wearing scarves so now both Otabek and his roommate sport neckwear and jackets as the leaves littered on the grass turn dead brown and the trees give up their own clothing, stand spindly against the sky.

Otabek's been trying to focus on his own midterms and performances and assessments coming due, but he can't help noticing that JJ's gotten quieter. Just in the times in between, when it's just the two of them sitting around the dorm or on the train. His usual boisterous self in social groups, still.

Word gets around that Victor Nikiforov is going to practice his Stammi audition after choir on Friday. Otabek verifies with Yuuri. The choir conductor, Yakov Feltsman, gives the students a look as they linger after he packs up, but leaves because he's the sort not to care what the students do after class time is over.

Yuuri stays at the piano and sure enough, Victor waltzes down the steps and flourishes sheets onto the stand propped up and level with Yuuri's line of sight. Otabek's sitting behind the two on the risers. Those who don't want to stay have vanished without a trace (it IS Friday, after all), and those who want to hear crowd in around Otabek's prime position. His VRBOPS is quite affronted but he won't give up his seat just cause Chris and some other students sit too close for comfort. One girl he knows from repertoire studies; she says hi to him and he returns it politely.

Victor assumes his stance in the crook of the baby grand and tosses a look back at Yuuri. Otabek's filming. He will show Yuuri the look later on repeat if Yuuri tries to make any explanations.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Victor Nikiforov," Chris yells in a very overdone Russian accent, trying to imitate Yakov. Some people laugh, two guys in the back have a clapping duel until Yuuri starts playing and everyone hushes.

_Sento una voce/Que piange lontano. . ._

Victor has a strong baritone, a willful vibrato, and what Otabek can now name as good breath control. He can still hear what he is singing even at the quiet parts.

_Stammi vicino/Non te ne andare/Ho paura di perderti . . ._

The climatic phrases Victor sings spread into the empty performance hall as Yuuri accompanies in perfect step. They've practiced enough that some rubato is applied without losing time. Otabek hears how much of a beginner he is at this whole singing thing, knowing how he sounds and how he really doesn't have a vibrato yet, comparing himself to this performance (rehearsal, really). When Yuuri's left hand leaves the keys briefly to whisk off the cojoined set of four sheets off the piano and reveal the last few Otabek thinks he should have offered to page-flip.

During the lone piano bit near the end Otabek leans back to see if he can see JJ. He spots the top of his head a few risers up and away but can't see his face. Maybe JJ will stop being so unrealistically confident after this.

The same two guys reinitiate their clap battle when Victor finishes and the watching crowd comes to life again, getting their books and bags to go and leaving fairly promptly. Otabek half-expects a bow from Victor but all he does is lazily pick up his sheets from in front of Yuuri and leans on the side of the piano, talking to the Japanese man in low tones as Yuuri folds his hands between his knees and taps his left foot on the _una corda._ Victor's silver bangs fall half in front of his eyes and he doesn't bother tucking them back.

Otabek snorts to himself. Yuuri is in such denial.

It's the last class and Otabek heads outside. JJ appears at his side when he's passed the bus loop and education block, the older building made of brick.

"So, you still think you'll get the part?" Otabek asks JJ.

JJ's wrapping his scarf (Otabek's, actually, and Otabek's wearing one of JJ's, something Roots) a little more securely as the breeze kicks up, sending drifts of snow around their feet though the main thoroughfare has been shovelled by maintenance staff.

"Oh yeah," JJ says, but Otabek picks up that maybe there's some confidence missing, and the following silence confirms that suspicion, at least to Otabek.

Makes him wonder if he should retract that or cushion it. _But I've never heard you sing._ But he doesn't say it.


	5. Chapter 5

October 25th Otabek's midterms start. Theory passes easily. He and Yuuri agree it wasn't too bad. JJ offhandedly admits it was tough for him. Figures, Otabek's been doing his homework for him.

Phichit is extremely occupied and Yuuri explains that he's a procrastinator. Someone else Otabek knows from outside of school, Leo, is also in the engineering faculty, he's just found out, but the timing is inopportune to meet up or anything.

Thankfully Otabek doesn't have any piano performance midterms, but he does have to write a repertoire exam which is kind of dumb and focuses too much on gregorian chants. He does engage in some post-exam chat, with that one girl named Sara and a couple others, just staying around long enough to gauge that he probably did alright, and then heads off. To practice, of course, for what he's really nervous for. Auditions on the 27th.

The longer he practices and tries to get the consonants more spitting and the high note more supported and his breath going through the last phrase, the more painfully aware he is that a good lot of his competition is more qualified and competent than he is. Although he knows JJ is busy and hasn't been around much, he needs an extra lesson from voice-teacher-JJ and stomachs up the courage to ask JJ for a last practice session. He bets with himself that JJ's ego will be flattered by this and maybe mask any sort of perception of Otabek's flagging self-confidence.

So they're on their way to theory in the morning (snowing, both wearing boots, they leave early to take the inside route and save themselves the exposure) and Otabek asks.

And JJ says no, he's gotta work on his own audition. _Sorry man,_ he apologizes, but it's a bit lack-luster. Now that Otabek pays some attention, it quickly becomes clear JJ, even JJ, is feeling the pressure. _I've got piano practical and history both tomorrow, with my audition in between._

Otabek just sticks his hands in pockets. "It's fine," he says, but it's really not and he considers not trying at all for a moment. But that's silly, just a knee-jerk reaction.

Later, when Yuuri heads off for some extra practice hours and Otabek splits for repertoire (just to take notes and let his brain, in the meanwhile, work over Still wie die Nacht) he realizes JJ's got three midterm-ish things on the same day tomorrow. That's unfortunate, and Otabek feels sorry for him. He wouldn't change it for his own nicely spaced-out schedule. There's some fitness testing next week and that's about it for his midterm things. And in the bit of the lull after, he can probably nab some extra practice time.

Well, if he has to do this himself, he'll do it as best he can.

He goes to bed on time (9:00 p.m.) on the 26th, and wakes up at 6:00 a.m. on JJ's advice since his audition is 9:30 a.m. _Trick your body into thinking it's later than it is._ After going to the gym (chest day, and a couple checks to make sure he's hitting reps good for next week on other muscle groups), he trudges to the practice room he's had booked since Monday and warms up, sings along to the recording of the accompaniment he's made for himself. He did ask Yuuri to accompany him but it wasn't really set in stone. Doesn't really matter who's playing piano for you, right? But closer to the time, he finds himself hoping that Yuuri will show up. Maybe just for some small but important sliver of confidence it could give him.

He arrives outside CFH 162, the audition room, 10 minutes early. His heart's jumping in his chest. _You know this, you might not be the best singer but this song you've practiced and you'll give it a good effort,_ he tells himself.

The door opens and one of the adjudicators, a vaguely-recognizable prof, nods him in.

"Otabek Altin?" she asks. He nods. "You have an accompanist?"

He glances back, beginning to shake his head, but there's a familiar figure hurrying down the flat-tiled hall towards them, papers clutched to chest.

Otabek smiles, his heartbeat slows a little, this is a calming reassurance. Yuuri pushes his blue glasses up on his nose, one hand on one side of the frames, Still wie die Nacht in his other hand.

"Here," Yuuri says.

"You have the time?" Otabek asks. Yuuri nods. They both enter.

No time to waste. The room is painted black for performances. There's a Kingsway upright and Yuuri shuffles the sheets open, a sharp sound in the otherwise quiet room. The judging panel is made of three, one being Yakov, the choir director. Otabek makes eye contact with the man, who might be surprised to him there, or maybe just eternally grumpy-looking.

Otabek looks on the floor for any X marking where to stand but finds none, so puts himself sort of close to the piano but in front of it. He grounds himself, takes a few experimental breaths, just to put the support there. Looks at Yuuri and nods.

It's all over too soon. He think's he's done an alright job. No vocal frys. He did have to take a couple extra breaths, but did so at the places voice-teacher-JJ laid out for emergency breaths. Nevertheless, his fingers are tingly from some weird form of nerves, maybe the circulation frightfully stopped running to his extremities hanging down at his sides.

"Was it OK?" he asks Yuuri as soon as they head out. Yuuri nods, his fluffy black hair bouncing.

"Oh yes, I think it sounded fine. I mean, I don't know who else is trying out for it. But I'm sure you have a chance. I forget, did you say you took voice lessons before?"

They stop in the hall; there's a low ledge opposite the rooms that doubles as a sitting space and that wall is paneled with windows, showing the dull white and brown landscape outside. Only a handful of students walk the paths; it's not in-between classes yet.

Otabek shakes his head. Now here is very nice person who respects his VRBOPS. Why couldn't he have Yuuri for a roommate?

"That's very good for just starting singing," Yuuri says encouragingly. "Did JJ give you tips?"

Otabek sighs in his nose. Well, it's unavoidable that with how annoyingly extroverted JJ is that everyone would know they're roommates, and that JJ would blab about whatever. And maybe he'll even take credit if Otabek gets the part. Otabek can picture it. If he gets it, and he tells JJ, he won't be able to finish his sentence before JJ will sling an arm around Otabek's shoulder and start ranting happily away.

"Well, he . . . " But Otabek can't lie. "He actually said I should try for this one. And showed me some things about singing."

"Oh, great. That works out for you guys."

Yuuri already knows JJ comes to Otabek for help with his piano.

"Are you accompanying him?" Yuuri continues.

Otabek shakes his head. "Why would he need me?"

When Yuuri doesn't respond, and they just head off towards MaDL in companiable silence, something bugs Otabek, but he won't let himself place quite what.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The day passes in a relaxed fashion for Otabek. With the audition over, there's a bit of relief. He goes to practice early since repertoire is cancelled today and relishes the solace. No choir today, either, so after he's taken his time practicing and fooling around, chording along to Dearly Beloved, he goes to MaDL's studio room and works on a track. It feels weirdly contraband, doing something completely unrelated to academics during school hours.

Around 4 in the afternoon Otabek tires of one leisure activity and goes to the next, goes back to the dorm and makes cookies, of all things, cause JJ will probably be back for supper before his history exam. He turns on S01E03 of The Punisher and pays attention with half an eye.

He likes being by himself and doing nothing, like this. (He counts this sort of thing as nothing, because it's not productive.)

Slowly as the time passes and he tires of the show after two epsiodes (the action is good, but he can only take so much predictable mainstream dogma) he concludes that JJ must not be coming back before his evening exam. Indignantly Otabek eats an extra cookie even though he probably shouldn't. Oh well. He gets into sleep pants and boots up his laptop, chills in bed browsing some new tracks and talking to some online friends.

He hears the door open and shut about . . . he waves his mouse to bring up the taskbar . . . 8:12 p.m. It's still early. He can go and at least be decent enough to ask how it all went. Something is still bugging him about Yuuri's silence at the accompanying and _why would he need me,_ maybe it was too much of a reflection, too familiar. Ah, but it's JJ, and he's going to back to his usual confident self. It will probably take the cold, hard proof of Nikiforov getting to part to batten down JJ's ever-present hopes. Despite all this, Otabek can still be a decent human being.

Otabek pushes his hair back, messy after taking off his headphones, tugs a hoodie on and zips it up, walks into the kitchen and the sound of a glass breaking.

JJ's back, messenger bag slouching down one shoulder, scarf half-unravelled. His hand is still suspended in an empty grip he's dropped the glass from, which is now in a couple large pieces and a lot of glinting, small ones on the laminate, in a puddle of water that's splashed on JJ's black pants.

He turns and looks at Otabek, mumbles (JJ mumbling? JJ, _mumbling?),_ "Oh, sorry, fuck . . . sorry." Otabek flinches a little cause he's never heard JJ swear. He's wishing he hadn't come out.

"I'll get a garbage bag for the big pieces," Otabek says, opening the storage closet close at hand and grabbing a Safeway plastic bag from the bag-of-bags. He goes over and is about to bend down to gather the large remnants of the glass when he notices the hand JJ's raking back through his dark undercut is shaking. Otabek doesn't really know how to ask people if they're alright and he doesn't really want to.

"Uh, I should, uh - sorry, god, I'm gonna lose it," JJ says in that strung-together way, this new, low, purposeless tone Otabek's never heard his voice wear before.

"Lose what?" Otabek asks. "Don't stand so close to the glass."

"The money," JJ says, drawing a hitched breath in. "The - the - you don't know, it's not imp-p-portant, fuck."

He won't move on his own so Otabek has to push past his own bubble (ugh) and pull JJ away from the mess he's made.

"I'll clean it up," Otabek tells JJ. "You go shower or sleep."

JJ's (dark, very-nice-shade-of) blue eyes glint, unsettling, displaced, as they meet Otabek's for a second, but he seems to get the idea and makes off that way.

Otabek turns his back as soon as he can because this is very awkward and weird and focuses on cleaning up the mess. Large pieces in bag, bag inside larger kitchen garbage, sweep up the little pieces, cloth once for any missed pieces, twice for drying the floor.

He checks that the door is locked (it isn't, so he locks it), tosses a glance at the cookies sitting laid out on the little dining table, and turns off the lights and heads back to his room.

Well, he doesn't quite make it because JJ's in the bathroom, the door of which is almost closed, sound of running water emanating and light from around the doorframe.

Otabek tries to go through possible outcomes of this situation.

One, he goes to bed and ignores everything. This is the nice option, but he knows that ignoring everything might be easier said than done.

Two, he . . . he could knock and see if JJ answers. Something like, Are you OK? No. Do you need something? That's better. Well, what then?

Two A: JJ, as he knows him, would probably say something like, _no, do you need something?_ and push JJ's-perfect-nose-with-its-little-upturn-at-the-end into Otabek's face with a grin. But this weird JJ will probably not do that.

Two B: JJ says nothing and Otabek could go back to option One, which he immediately discounts since the extra step of events will cause sleep to be even more elusive. The other course of action is to enter. Which would be extremely uncomfortable. But something in him tries to justify this with wild speculations. What if there's some actual medical emergency? JJ was acting strangely. What if he actually really needs help and Otabek is a few feet away and doesn't bother and finds out in the morning something terrible has happened and, _oh that would be pretty bad._

So without a further thought Otabek goes to option Two, which is rewarded with silence, so Two B it is and Otabek pushes the door open. JJ is leaning over the counter, supporting himself, hands splayed, braced on the edge of the running sink. Clearly he's struggling to breathe. _What the hell, JJ._

"JJ, are you - what do you need? What's wrong?" Otabek leans around to try and face his roommate, which is manageable with him bent down like this, but all JJ does is half-shake his head, lips parted and chest heaving. Otabek thinks of what might be the problem; JJ hasn't told him of any preexisting medical conditions which even JJ is smart enough to disclose, if they were important, Otabek would like to believe, so this has to be a reaction - _whatever it is, stop scaring me and start breathing properly._ That's all Otabek can think of to do, "JJ, breathe," he orders him, "Or do I take you to the hospital."

His roommate still gasps wordlessly, eyes looking through Otabek though Otabek can't really get around his posture. It's been long enough Otabek is actually getting a bit scared and so forces himself in between JJ and his reflection, grabs his face between his hands and stares him down. "Breathe!" he yells at him, and part of it is his own panic.

JJ's hands come up and clasp over Otabek's and now JJ's actually looking at him, thank god, not zoning out. They stagger backward until JJ's resting back against the opposite wall, knees bent, looking like he's been caught mid-fall, and Otabek's just telling him to do that same as he has for the last minute.

Finally it looks like JJ's getting some control and some words come out, the warmth of his hands over Otabek's drops off slowly. "S-sorry, oh fuck," and JJ slides down to sit on the bathroom floor and leans his head into his hands, leaving Otabek standing over him.

Otabek crosses his arms, the scare over, trying to lock his limbs from the shakes the adrenaline rush leaves behind.

"What was that, and what money?" he prompts JJ after a pause of trying to get his thoughts together.

He can feel JJ getting a hold of his breathing.

"You're OK now?" Otabek wants to ask but he won't, he just waits . . . waits, it takes a solid minute for JJ to look up at him.

"I screwed up my piano performance," he says.

"So?" Otabek says. "It happens." (But he knows he wouldn't take that very well in his own position.)

"And then everything just went to shit. It just kept building up. The audition was crap. My hearing went. It goes when I'm really nervous. Just, the piano starts playing but I can't hear it for some reason. And it just got worse. Sure I failed history too. Oh fuck . . ." JJ's head flops back down in his hands.

Otabek considers this. "Maybe you should have tried to change your midterm schedule."

JJ's silence says this isn't the time for sage advice.

"What money?" Otabek asks again.

"Merenschorshin," mumbles JJ.

"What?"

"I'm here on a scholarship."

There's a pause.

"If my GPA goes below a 3.7 I'm done for." JJ looks back up at Otabek. "And I might be done for." There's a crack in his voice at this end. He looks back down. "I can't tell my parents. I have to fix this. They believe in me so hard . . . I can't pay for this, I can't make them pay for this, the counsellors said go do something useful like learn how to build bridges but Mom and Dad said do what you love and now-"

"Sh," Otabek says harshly. JJ looks up at him. God, he always wears his heart on his sleeve, and Otabek realizes he much prefers it when it's fully of annoying confidence and not this - well whatever this is, it's more than he bargained for from JJ.

JJ's waiting for Otabek to say something. Otabek feels heat start rising to his cheeks. The awkwardness is sticking in between the pages of things Otabek could say to continue the conversation. "You should clean up and sleep," Otabek says. "It's, well, probably not as bad as you think." Otabek hears his own tone slant up at the end, betraying his confidence.

He leaves.

Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, he thinks at least he was prepared for the unexpected in university, but maybe not in this way. And something about accompanying. Something about piano. Something that makes him grimace a little and turn over onto his side. He tried, he did what a decent person would do. But maybe it wasn't enough. _It doesn't have to be, not your responsibility,_ he thinks dimly to himself in the space between waking and sleeping. It leaves the taste of a question he's answered many times lingering in his mind, but now he hovers there, wondering if he should change his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhha ha  
> concept art here https://sciencemakedrugtho.tumblr.com/post/160598881811


	6. Chapter 6

Otabek gives himself the freedom to sleep in this Saturday, but he's never been a heavy sleeper and noises wake him - he rolls over and presses his phone on - at 7:46 a.m. Not bad. He can get to the gym at least.

The events of last night come back to him. Well, at least JJ is up. Maybe it'll be like nothing happened.

Otabek hauls himself out of bed, grabs a T-shirt from the closet, pulls it on and leaves his room. He doesn't believe in working out on an empty stomach. Well at least when he's in this slow-build-maintain phase, not the cut/bulk cycle.

JJ's in the kitchen, closing the dishwasher door with a foot. The French-Canadian looks back around at Otabek and it isn't like nothing happened, but he looks fine now, and maybe a bit ashamed. The expression is foreign on his face and Otabek is not quite sure how to read it as a result.

Otabek draws up to the counter as JJ turns away. He motions at the cookies on the table. "Have some if you want. I made those last night."

"Thanks," JJ says, picking one up, hand hovering and choosing the one with the most chocolate chips.

"Taste it before you thank me," Otabek advises. He sees JJ sigh through his red-and-navy baseball tee, a quick ride up and down, hanging on his shoulderblades. Certainly not the sort of inhale and exhale voice-teacher-JJ would endorse for singing. Otabek catches sight of the bottom of a tattoo on JJ's back with this brief movement but looks away before JJ turns half around.

"I meant for last night. Sorry. That was a lot of . . . stuff."

Otabek gives a little shake of his head. He wants to say _it's nothing_ because that would be very comforting but what if this were to happen again? No, he can't be polite. "You should have told me this could happen. I didn't know what to do."

"Sorry, I didn't think it would. Thought I was safe." JJ takes a bite of the cookie, reducing it by half. "Thanks, though. I mean it. You did exactly what you're supposed to. But I didn't mean to make you do anything. Sorry."

"It's not a huge deal." Otabek opens the lower pantry cupboard and gets the bag of bread out. "I'll stop doing your theory homework for you. That will help your GPA."

"Mmh, you're very helpful. Good cookie. Hey, how did your audition go?" JJ says, sounding brighter, brushing his hands to dust off crumbs.

"I think it went well, for me."

"You have a good voice, I don't see why you wouldn't get the part," JJ says, with tentative cheer.

"I do," Otabek says. He grabs a spoon from the cutlery drawer and a pot from another cupboard, fills the pot shallowly from the tap. "Is this going to happen again? Do I need to get used to this?" Otabek asks. "Do you need medication?"

"Ahhhhh . . . " JJ trails. "I hate the meds." Quietly, but then louder, "No, I'll handle it better next time. I'll know if I'm too stressed."

"Sure," Otabek says. He taps some salt into the water and oats in the pot, then jumps as JJ claps a hand on his back.

"You're so chill, man," JJ says, and heads back to his room.

Otabek would've hissed after the sudden intrusion into his VRBOPS but that comment softens his attitude a little. He didn't exactly tell JJ that he scared the hell out of him. Hopefully he'll never have to, or find himself in the same spot again.

 _Please get yourself back to normal, JJ,_ he thinks.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Saturday passes with gym time, practice time, and (he pushes himself) going to Cards with Sara and Chris and Yuuri and Victor and some others. They made the plan yesterday in the group chat Otabek only joined to . . . well, he doesn't know exactly why he joined . . . but anyways, he heads out and texts JJ to ask if he wants a ride. Otabek does have his bike parked on campus. Apparently JJ's going to buy food solo. _Need anything,_ he asks Otabek, who responds negative and dismisses all concerns for his roommate to go out and (try to) have a good time.

Now they're sitting around a couple tables pulled together because Phichit is finished his exams and he and some other engineering (engg) kids are gathered around. Most people have drinks at their elbows; Otabek wanted to get a tea but they didn't have any rooibos varieties and he's a little specific that way.

Otabek's gone to find a game, tasked by Chris and Yuuri after Otabek downvoted Cards Against Humanity (overplayed, and not his type of humor). The banter from his table is the strongest background noise in the cafe. Some other off-duty employees and small groups occupy the well-worn family-style tables and chairs in the bright half of the shop reserved for game-playing, but the university group dominates the airspace.

He trails his fingers idly over the smooth lines of game boxes. He's chosen to wear a plain but high-quality leather jacket; he rode his bike and he knows Sara saw him park the Harley Street, she lingered a second at the door, flashed him a smile (like she usually does, but is it a coincidence that it seemed a bit brighter, a bit stronger?).

"Hey, man! Thought I'd catch you sooner than later!"

Otabek turns around; it's Leo, who clasps his hand and claps his hand on his back in a quick greeting that Otabek tolerates.

"Your midterms are over too?" Otabek asks.

"Yeh, mostly, got calc on Tuesday," Leo says. He's got loose shoulder-length brown hair, a tan, a jean jacket with patches and badges and whatnot, ripped black skinny jeans. Hands in pockets, forever casual. "You coming out later?" He glances back at the table. "Going to invite anyone?" He shoves a thumb back at the waiting group.

Otabek frowns. "No, music faculty . . . they wouldn't appreciate it." His reputation wouldn't appreciate it, he's sure. Or at least it's just not necessary that anyone else knows. Or at least not JJ. Because JJ will, _will for certain,_ come along and Otabek does NOT want that. "And we're splitting the time, right?" he says.

"Oh yeh, sure, I didn't check with Lilia." Leo yawns and stretches, bounces on his toes. "What are we gonna play?"

Eventually Dutch Blitz and the expansion pack is selected and they head back. Sara's pulled out a chair for Otabek and he obliges. On his other side is Yuuri, so that's fine anyways. He hands the cards to Yuuri, who starts shuffling, talking to Chris across the table. There's one chair that's been saved, still sits empty, on Yuuri's other side: the engg kids are oblivious, of course, but it's Victor's.

Just on time, as everyone from music is looking at each like _do we start without him?_ and Otabek is inwardly answering _of course,_ because this isn't some music competition, this is a social gathering, the Russian blows in through the door, light tan trench coat, dark blue plaid scarf, elegant and eye-catching as always. He greets everyone in style and slides into the seat beside Yuuri.

"I hope you didn't wait long," he says, but everyone can see his gaze brushes over the irrelevant faces at the table and settles on Yuuri's. Yuuri just shakes his head and hands Victor the cards.

"How about you deal?" Yuuri says, and Victor slips off his gloves, tucks them in a pocket, loosens his scarf, and obliges.

Otabek's unwound his own neckwear by one loop. He'll admit he was running a bit late out the door, waiting for JJ to text back if he needed a ride or not, so he'd just grabbed whatever was closest at hand. The scarf's dark green. It's JJ's. The sense that realizes this first is his nose. JJ doesn't wear any cologne (thank god), but he smells - well, assumed, because his _scarves_ smell - sort of like lemon, and wet wood and smoke. Softer than that, something better than just those ingredients.

No need to get so specific.

Yuuri's dealt him a hand and Otabek stacks the 10 down, the three beside, counts up, exactly 30, reshuffles.

"Gross," Sara says beside him. "29."

Some other girl who's her business major friend agrees with her.

"Sure you didn't stack the deck, Victor?" Chris slings across the table, grinning from behind his stubble and round glasses and lashes and bleached scruff of hair which, in chorus, scream, _"I am an arts student_!".

Victor, the proud owner of a blue 1, a yellow 3, and such other cards, grins back. "It just means all the terribly high cards are at the bottom."

"Are we doing the girl-boy-girl rule?" Yuuri asks.

"The what?" Victor turns to Yuuri with this special brand of smile Otabek can distinguish only when Victor is talking to Yuuri.

"Threesome, obviously," Chris says matter-of-factly. "And of course, sounds excellent to-"

"Shut up Chris," someone says and Chris is already laughing and Sara laughs a bit at Otabek's elbow.

"Let's use it," Otabek asserts.

"What is it?" Victor presses Yuuri. Yuuri looks at Otabek. Otabek knows Yuuri is just shy but it might seem hard-to-get from the outside, and for some reason Otabek thinks this is a fun dynamic.

"Those who know what it is can use it," Yuuri says.

"But-" Victor starts, feigning offense.

"Three, two, one, go," Otabek says, and everyone gladly starts throwing down cards, the engg kids yelling as some of them complain they didn't hear the start. There's another game going on at the other table anyway.

By the end of the round, which comes quickly, someone has to drag an engg kid half off the table because he was shouting the orange pile was too far away and Sara's called blitz.

"Should we keep score?"

"Of course!" Sara says.

Lots of protests go up. It's quickly decided they'll record who won and that's it. Some of the engg kids have a beer at hand. Music kids start to copy.

"Want a beer?" Sara asks Otabek. He shakes his head. She turns back to her friend who's gone to get a drink and communicates that neither she nor Otabek want anything. "So, did you bring your bike here all the way from Kazakhstan?" Sara asks.

Otabek's obliged to engage in conversation, which is interrupted soon enough by the next round. Sara's not bad to talk to; Otabek has a hunch she's fairly smart and no-nonsense. She wears several rings but her black hair hangs long, simple and straight; she's got minimal make-up on; a plain purple V-neck T-shirt. Her eyes are a dark grey color. She makes Otabek agree to listen to a bad joke if she scores higher than him this next round.

Most of the piles propogate quickly out of Otabek's reach as the frenzy of flying hands criss-crossing over the table ensues. Sara's got no reservations about standing up, pushing her chair back, and slapping her card down hard to deter anyone else from trying to edge her out.

Somehow, Otabek gets his pile down to two cards and Sara's still got 9, though her hand is slim pickings when Victor blitzes. They count up. Otabek's higher.

"Aw, are you sure? Now you don't get to hear my joke!" Sara's smile tempts half of one out of Otabek in return.

"Maybe next round," Otabek says.

"If you reconsider now, you could hear two bad jokes."

"Chris is a walking bad joke, I only need one more," Otabek replies. Sara laughs.

"What?" Chris shouts, sorting the reversed cards according to color.

"Nothing," Sara says.

The evening goes quickly. Sara's friend moves to sit beside some engg boy wearing a snapback. Leo seems to be friends with another diminuitive student who is probably a genius Asian. It's not meant to be mean, but Leo doesn't seem terribly smart in the academic sense, to Otabek.

At one point, Victor full-on drapes himself over Yuuri's shoulders when Yuuri slaps a ten on a blue pile just after Victor does, but Victor's was face-up and Yuuri's was face-down and everyone started yelling and arguing so hard they had to shut down the game and cover the card piles and the card was given to Yuuri and Victor fake-whines about it. Yuuri looks down because his cheeks are red, but he gives Victor a good few seconds to settle down and start looking comfortable before pushing him off.

Everyone has someone who seems closer to them than Otabek is to anyone.

Does he mind? _Does he mind?_ Here he is, investing in his friendship with Sara.

They pull out another game Otabek's not familiar with and he looks at his watch; time to head out; he gives the eyebrow raise to Leo across the table and receives one in return. (He hopes Leo's taking an Uber or something, he's had a couple drinks). At this point the engg kids have indeed started playing Cards against Humanity and laughing raucously about jokes that aren't funny so it's a great time to split.

Otabek's said goodbyes and is heading to the door but Sara is accompanying him to the exit.

"We should do this again," she says, and Otabek's pretty sure she means a smaller _we_ than the entire group present. He loops his scarf around his neck and pulls it snug, gives a silent nod because he doesn't know if he wants to encourage this, and leaves into the blustering cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be up soon  
> plz leave comments i like comments


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating increase is for a brief (but important) sentence, just in case

Otabek wakes up the next morning knowing it was a lack-luster night at the club. It was fine, but it was rote. He wasn't feeling like it. He's getting too deep into his own head.

 _Stop thinking about relationships. You know how they go. You know how it ended with Mila,_ he tells his reflection in the mirror as he shaves. It's pretty early for a Sunday and no sounds from anyone else in the dorm yet.

He tidies the counter back up and starts wiping the mirrors (he's on cleaning duty later, might as well do some now). That leads to _might as well do the shelves now too._ The mirrors open to reveal storage behind. He notices a narrow white-capped orange cylinder sitting beside JJ's stuff. That's new. Otabek won't pry, but he does have to clean. _30mg, twice a day._ JJ said he didn't need medication. He could have kept it in his room. Or is he that thoughtless that he wouldn't think Otabek wouldn't see it when he did his cleaning? That he's scheduled for? That they agreed on? Did JJ think he didn't do his part of the cleaning thoroughly?

In this bit of a huff, Otabek goes into the kitchen. He's used to the JJ-makes-pancakes-Otabek-does-both-homeworks but JJ isn't up yet, and Otabek's made the promise to not do JJ's homework anymore, so Otabek takes up the pancake mantle. He's never made pancakes but he just chooses the first recipe that shows up on Google.

It's only 7:05 a.m. Otabek's still in sleep pants, no shirt. (For some reason he'll wear a sleep shirt to bed and it'll be off in the morning. He's not a light sleeper, he's not a peaceful sleeper.) It's somewhere in the back of his head to get into clothes before, like, 7:30 or something.

He's still subconsciouly mulling over things, like how Alina's doing, news about Trump and Russia, Debussy (he's given Images and Estampes more complete listens after JJ mentioned it), the sticky high G# key on the Clements Hall piano, if he should spend serious time thinking about Sara-and-him (the answer is a cautiously optimistic _yes_ ), when he becomes pretty sure JJ's up and he turns from the bowl of batter he's been preparing.

JJ's sitting on the couch, definitely up, maybe has been staring at his back, goes to pulling on socks. His undercut is messy from sleep.

"Man, you should be my personal trainer, I need that," he says, gesturing at Otabek's bare torso, which Otabek has conveniently made available for gesturing at by turning towards his roommate.

"Just take a KNES option," Otabek says, turning back around to the cupboards to get a frying pan. Maybe there's heat rising to his cheeks, maybe not.

"You don't even work out that long, do you? In the evenings, right, sometimes?"

Otabek, pan in hand, shrugs.

"Just one of those lucky people with lucky genes." JJ leans his head back on the arm of the couch and sighs.

"You mean your genes aren't good? You eat the same things as me, nearly, and you're fine," Otabek says.

"Fine? Fine? I'm like . . . average. You're built. You've got more muscle AND definition," JJ points out.

"At least you're not fat," is all Otabek can return, earning a choking guffaw from JJ.

Silence for awhile. The pan gets hot enough to start sizzling after Otabek sprays it and carefully drops the prescribed amount of batter in, watches it spread. It would be silly to get changed now. He's gotta stick it out. He's trying to feel if JJ's staring at his back. He can't tell.

"So I do my own homework today, eh?" JJ says.

"Yes," Otabek says.

JJ makes some sort of noise.

"You know I do all my scheduled cleaning, right?" Otabek says.

"Yeah, of course," JJ returns.

Otabek carefully attempts to flip the first pancake after edging it up and deciding it's brown enough. It lands slanted on the side of the pan. Otabek makes a face at it.

"This about the pills? I know I said I didn't want them-" JJ starts, sounding less, how would JJ say it, _less chill._

"You said you could handle it," Otabek points out.

"Well I know but," JJ says.

"You could've put them in your room." Otabek says. "I clean there, you know."

"Of course I know." From the acoustics, Otabek can tell JJ's turned towards the kitchen, probably leaning on the back of the couch. "I thought you would feel better knowing I had them too," he mumbles. There it goes, that mumbling. A dramatic sigh and shifting of the couch. "OK, how long is this hell of an assignment . . .D2L . . . 5 pages! God, how do you get this done so fast?"

Otabek carries on with the change in subject, but he feels a biting shame at mentioning anything at all about the pills and it's mostly because that wasn't just some excuse from JJ, Otabek believes it's the truth, and he was too blind to even consider it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Otabek tells his parents about Sara that evening. They ask about her family and what her parents do. Otabek is not sure. He decides, on a slight whim, to ask her, after. He uses messenger, contacting her privately off the group. They chat. It's nice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Decisions about parts for the Eros/Agape concert will be out Saturday is the word. The week is the return to the grind as all classes recover from the midterm lull.

JJ's still coming to Otabek's practice sessions. He's still asking for advice. He's better at taking the advice now. When he's trying to implement what Otabek has just told him to do, his dark brown frowns in concentration and Otabek can tell he's making a good effort. Improving faster, even, Otabek thinks. Midterms will do that.

What else midterms will do? Well, JJ's also yawning and looking pretty tired. His foot taps frequently. Still nervous. Otabek's in top form. He's handled himself just fine, thank you very much.

JJ suggests Otabek keep practicing voice (Still wie die Nacht, specifically). _I won't get the part,_ Otabek says. _But you might,_ JJ insists. Otabek doesn't like preparing for a tentative success. But he agrees, because honestly he sort of enjoys this voice instrument when it's just solo and not as part of the choir and he'll admit it, he will, that voice-teacher-JJ is a pretty good voice teacher. Anyways, it's the trade off for Otabek's helping JJ with piano.

Theory marks come back Wednesday. JJ makes Otabek check his score for him. Otabek's got a 93, which is very good. JJ's got a 78.

"Oh god, yes," JJ says. "I can save it."

"Don't feel safe. We've got chorales coming up. The highest you can humanly get on chorale writing is 85," Otabek says.

"They'll curve it, won't they?"

Otabek shrugs. But he sees this has indeed made JJ feel unsafe as his roommate lapses into silence. Well, he's got his own things to do. As a celebration for his score he plans to get Korean BBQ with Yuuri, then Yuuri can't, but suggests someone else.

 **Yuuri:** _try Sara, I'm sure she'll accept_

 **Otabek:** _is it that obvious?_

 **Yuuri:** _she's into youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu_

 **Yuuri:** _I mean she purposefully sat by you at Cards_

 **Yuuri:** _and everyone saw her see you to the door_

 **Yuuri:** _or maybe she just likes your bike_

 **Yuuri:** _((I'm kidding_

 **Otabek:** _I didn't think anyone would notice anything over you and Nikiforov_

 **Yuuri:** _you toooooooo?_

 **Yuuri:** _Phichit won't stop about that either_

 **Yuuri:** _he can't like me ?_

 **Otabek:** _but he does._

 **Yuuri:** _I don't have tiiiiiiiiime_

 **Otabek:** _You know when you won't have time? Next year_

 **Yuuri:** _safdsdsaufsj_

 **Yuuri:** _just ask Sara_

Sara accepts the invitation, so Otabek and Sara get lunch on Thursday and after he feels tingly with responsibility because he certainly doesn't want to lead her on and he certainly doesn't want to miss the opportunity for a relationship which might be better than what he's had before, _not all relationships are like that old one, don't discount the idea,_ that oh-so-mature or maybe oh-so-foolish voice in his head tells him.

He lies awake in bed Thursday night. Does he like Sara? Yes. Is he attracted to her? _Yes. . . .,_ he says softly to himself. Why not? She's sexy. She's into him. And his parents are sure to approve. Her father is a pediatrician, her mother is on a prestigious arts council.

He looks at porn because he's got time and he needs the release and when he comes, oh hell, oh _fucking_ hell, the name that falls in a constricted gasp from his lips certainly doesn't start with an S and the eyes aren't dark grey, they're dark blue.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_It's the new environment. It's being away from home. It's midterms. It's stress. Your hormones are attracted to JJ. Your body, for some reason, thinks it's attracted to JJ._

_You are NOT attracted to JJ._

Otabek tells himself this. He reminds himself how annoying JJ is. _There are many annoying things about JJ_. How he's a head taller. His unflagging (well, until as of late) confidence. The stupid song he sings about being king and undefeatable or whatever. The tattoo on his back which Otabek is sure is something narcissistic or at least in poor taste. (The maple leaf on his bicep is fine.) His elementary piano skills. He _might_ have nice eyes. He, or his scarves, _might_ smell like lemon-wood-smoke-something. He _might_ have proved himself a better man than Otabek assumed on several occasions. They are even friends now, for sure. His - his - _you are NOT attracted to JJ._

And he must be right, because in theory he and Yuuri have shifted a couple seats back and Sara and some of her friends a couple seats up for them to sit together, and in choir, Otabek will often make the shorter trip to talk to Sara instead of Yuuri (well, when they have such breaks, it's usually Victor at the side of the piano now). He's right, he has to be, he's _not attracted to JJ._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Unusually, JJ has a Facetime call with his parents on Friday evening. Otabek's got his gear ready to go and is finishing up some repertoire notes, musing on when to take Sara out to with him, his door ajar, as JJ's conversation filters through, a constant flow of French with English words interspersed. A sudden change to English sparks his attention.

"Bella! . . . how are you doing?"

Some old friend must have dropped in for the call. Otabek has no chance of understanding the garbled tones of the reply from JJ's laptop. JJ's voice drops to a quieter level and Otabek's pen hovers over the paper, stopped from writing for the moment, stopped the scratching sounds.

"Just tired . . . midterms . . . medications again . . . no, god, they're still bad . . . yeah, tired and I can't tell . . . exams or side-effects . . ."

Otabek catches just snippets of the conversation on JJ's end.

". . . should I continue? . . . be four weeks at least before . . . ."

An extended pause for whoever Bella is to talk for awhile. Some conversation that doesn't make any sense, stuff about Bella. Then some relevance:

". . . Stick it out, but I don't know . . . fall asleep in class . . . " Something else about side effects. "Yeah, I miss you . . . No, no one really . . . he helped but don't think he wanted to . . . I just made a fool- . . . haha, yeah I remember, I don't know why you stuck around . . . yeah I did but he won't even accompany me . . ." A short laugh from JJ. ". . . Yeah, so I don't think so . . . I guess so . . . see how it goes . . . "

Otabek's heard enough and resumes writing notes. However, after he fills the page, he hasn't absorbed a single fact about Josquin de Prez and the Franco-Flemish school. His mind is elsewhere.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Otabek tags Leo for Friday night, claiming he's gotta stay back and work on some tracks. Which he will. After - well, after the group heads out to the lounge, the loose Block 1 music group composed of Victor (and Yuuri), and Chris, and JJ, and Sara, etc., and their friends from other faculties. Walking there Otabek and JJ talk loosely about cars. Otabek wants a Maserati GranTurismo someday, probably a convertible. JJ says he could leave or take the convertible, but he'd like a shiny red '67 Chevrolet C10.

"How much would that cost?" Otabek asks.

"Oh, don't know. I'd want it restored already. Maybe thirty k," JJ says.

"Thirty thousand?" Otabek guesses. He's very good with English, but he's learned a handful of slang since September. JJ nods.

"I'm guessing your car is triple that," JJ says.

Otabek does a quick Google search. He doesn't know. "180,000," he says.

JJ guffaws. "You can't buy that with a piano major," he laughs.

They walk quickly. There's a bite to the -19 degree air and they're both dutifully bundled in scarves. Otabek's cold in his dark green jacket, which is on the thinner side, but he sticks his mittened hands in his pockets and just ignores it. He wonders if JJ's comfortable, wearing a dark blue, white-striped toque, a hoodie that's on the thicker side, magic gloves, and nothing else for warmer. Certainly seems so.

"I'll be happy if my dad lets me have his Jaguar F-type when he's done with it," Otabek adds.

JJ wrinkles his nose. "Jag? You should be."

Looking over to his left, Sara and some others are coming up, heading under the overpass that connects MaDL to the KNES class block. Otabek waves. JJ does too. They merge with the larger group, several of whom are JJ's friends and immediately strike up conversation with him. Sara, on the other hand, loops her arm around Otabek's, gives him a smile from under her snow-dusted hair and lashes, and they walk together, while JJ starts talking animatedly about something that happened at the lounge a couple days ago and everyone else goggles and gossips along.

They get to the lounge and Victor and Yuuri, Chris and others are already there. _I won't stay too long,_ Otabek's already told Sara, because he does have work to do. _That's fine,_ she's said.

Otabek orders a burger and fries, Sara gets salmon on some fancy rice dish. One group, which Otabek and Sara join, kind of settles at a long booth-like table and the other people crowd the bar. JJ goes there. He already ate supper and Otabek sees him order a drink or something. He's sitting beside some Korean student and a couple others from choir buffering him from Victor and Yuuri, but they still jabber back and forth friendly enough, it looks, from the booth where Otabek is. It's no secret that JJ and Victor are the contenders for Stammi Vicino.

The waitress brings Sara's food first and Otabek politely converses with some of Sara's friends. He doesn't know why they're 'Sara's friends' when he's in classes with most of them anyways. He and a saxophonist, Emil, discuss auditions for a bit before Otabek's plate is put in front of him.

Though everyone's including him in conversation and Sara is right there at his elbow, and she's having a good time, and there's a good mood and good music, something's eluding Otabek. At one point they're listening to Emil and some others recount last April Fools' when somehow everyone got up on top of the Admissions building and lobbed paint bombs at everyone else and Sara turns to Otabek and puts her hand on his and Otabek looks down. He swallows his hesitancy to breach the subject.

"Let's talk about us later," he says. Sara nods, pushing her hair back behind her shoulders.

Otabek leaves his hand there, but his eyes flick sideways and back to the bar counter where JJ's head is turning away, as if he was watching, and then JJ gets off his stool and slaps whoever-it-is on the back as a goodbye. Some blonde girl gives him a tipsy hug and eventually he extracts himself and heads off; Victor gives him that unfairly charismatic heart-smile of a 'goodnight!' and JJ returns it briefly with a wave, but Otabek tilts his head.

Maybe JJ's feeling the impending finality of his failure, which will undoubtedly reveal itself tomorrow.

Otabek stays several minutes longer and then tells Sara he should go. She leaves with him. They walk back through the snow. Otabek changes their path and walks Sara back to her dorm. It's dark by now and when she gives him a lingering _goodnight_ and closes the door, the warm light shuts off and there's only the sparkling glare of the lamps on the pathways, on the banks and skiffs of snow.

It's actually beautiful how snow sparkles. The cold may be unwelcome and a bit unfamiliar - not like Almaty doesn't get this cold but usually the Altins escape somewhere warmer during the worst bouts - but the season makes up for it with the winter scenes. JJ told him a couple mornings ago that they call the white, fluffy spikes coating all the bare trees in the morning that slowly float off during the day as it warms _hoarfrost._ The phenomenon coats chain-link fences, too. Otabek likes that as well.

When he gets back JJ's door is closed, but there's still light coming from the crack. Otabek turns himself to his evening routine.

He promised Sara to talk about _them_ ( _them, the idea mists heavily around the edges of his mind_ ) but he hasn't the faintest idea what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the first chapter I attributed Chopin's Revolutionary Etude to Rachmaninoff? Please kill me.  
> I can only justify that I was tired and meant to say Chopin because instead Otabek had to pick another short piece by Chopin.  
> I repent of this grave sin. I fixed it. However, it was too late to avoid damage to my pride.  
> Also I changed the title because this is ending up being less about something and more about something else.


	8. Chapter 8

Otabek goes to practice piano in the morning on Saturday, and the gym. He's learned to go to the gym after practice if and when he'll be doing 25-pound forearm wrist curls, fatiguing those muscles for any extensive piano playing.

Truth be told, he's nervous too, about the results coming in. He easily hits his target reps. He ups it on the last couple sets. Too much nervous energy. It's just adrenaline.

Piano is what calms him down. He's getting along very well in his pieces due to extra practice. The sonata's cleanly learned by note and the dynamics are almost totally in place. The Chopin, just have to get it cleaner and up to speed. He doesn't like the piece. The Samarkand is still in shambles, but the dance faculty needs it finished for next semester, so he can, in the words of JJ, _chill_ on that for awhile. At this point, a new piece is an option, one he picks by himself. Something on the side. And the more he listens to Debussy, the more he likes it, although he really is attached to Revolutionary Etude, Chopin's wartime ferocity.

Ms. Baranovskaya is an excellent teacher, and Otabek's endeavoring to be a good student. Knowing she's on the panel for the concert gives Otabek a little hope.

He feels like getting a bacon poutine from Gold Medal, so he does. (Wishes that JJ hadn't made him have some because he likes it more than's good for him. But he'll share it with JJ, he justifies, as he heads back to the dorm.)

JJ's lying sprawled on the couch, history textbook in his hands and D2L open on his laptop on the table, when Otabek bangs in, gym bag stuffed with gear slung over a shoulder.

"Hey," JJ says. Otabek nods at him and begins taking off all the winter gear, puts the brown container of poutine with its napkins on the kitchen table and goes to attend to the laundry he's created. When he cycles back he grabs the poutine and places it next to JJ's laptop, opens it and releases steam and the smell of hot fries and gravy into the room. JJ scoots up to a sitting position. Otabek sits on the other end of the couch. They both start eating, JJ shifting his book to the other hand briefly before swapping that out for a real napkin. He's silent and glances at the spot where the red dot should appear. Otabek feels his nerves even from a couch cushion away.

JJ's leg's jittering. It's very annoying to Otabek. At the same time, he feels like it would be rude to ask JJ to stop. Maybe nicely. Otabek is starting to realize that the longer he thinks of a way to try and ask nicely, the less nice and more awkwardly rude it ends up coming out.

"You're nervous," Otabek quickly says before the oration can get dangerously tangled up in his head, pointedly looking at JJ's leg. Thankfully JJ presses his foot on the floor and stops it. They've got the heat up because why not, they're paying for it, and JJ's wearing a red-brown T-shirt with the Blue Jays logo on it. Otabek's put on a loose grey hoodie as a second layer, cooled down from his workout. He successfully scoops a bundly glop of cheese curds up in a thick mud of gravy with a rather long fry stuck to a shorter one; there are a few choice little squares of bacon caught in the cradle; he admires this perfect bite briefly before putting it in his mouth, napkin hovering protectively below. Chews, flavour explosion. He looks at JJ, who's got dark circles under his eyes, that shifting blueish greenish stain of sleeplessness.

"I'll be straight with you, uh, heh," JJ says, "The meds don't start helping till later, they've just been keeping me awake and doing exactly the opposite of what they're supposed to be helping with so -" JJ grabs several fries together and stuffs them in his mouth, "- I should probably head out and be unnaturally nervous somewhere else." It's a casual-sounding statement but he doesn't make eye contact and stands up and makes for the door, beside which hangs his coat on a hook.

Otabek finds himself standing and saying, _wait,_ and JJ half-turns back towards him, and Otabek continues, _where are you going to go?_ and JJ, thank god for JJ's heart-on-his-sleeve approach and not making this awkward or hard, he says, _Just somewhere where I'm not making you uncomfortable,_ and Otabek shakes his head, because there's something whirling in there. It's JJ's voice, saying something like: _he helped but don't think he wanted to [because] I just made a fool [of myself, in front of him, and he'll never be there again because] he won't even accompany me_ and it does make Otabek feel ashamed. Ashamed of himself. It's an extremely uncomfortable feeling, and so what if he's making this gesture, in part, to alleviate his own guilt? Oh, that does sound pretty bad, but it's only part, the other part is something he'd like to think that is goodness in him and he _does_ feel bad for JJ and he _does not like_ seeing JJ so nervous; he just wants (ha! he laughs at himself for this thought) the annoying JJ back.

"Otabek? Otabek?" JJ's stopped at the door still, facing Otabek. Otabek snaps out of his introverted daze.

"What?"

"You sure?" JJ says.

"Well, if you prefer to be here, I don't mind," Otabek says, with difficulty.

"OK," JJ accepts. "As long as you-"

"-No, it's if you're fine-"

"-Yelling at me to breathe was good, last time," JJ says.

So they resume position.

"How about Debussy?" Otabek offers, stretching his legs out on the table once they've finished the poutine, and JJ's leaning with his elbows on his knees, tension wafting off him like a fever.

"What?" JJ looks up.

" _La cathedrale engloutie,_ " Otabek says, leaning over JJ's laptop and finding the Nelson Freire version. The piano tones are too quiet. Otabek gets up and returns lugging in an Alto TS212. Bluetooth on; the evocative chords fill the small room.

JJ and Otabek sit like that. The climatic, full chords ringing over the strongly struck bass C leave nothing to be said.

 _Dans une expression_ and the key change leave room for JJ to sigh. Otabek checks his phone.

"Parts are coming in for some," he says (Sara's texted him to let him know).

"Nh," JJ says. "How about piano? Gee. Oh right, I have Music Box later. At least that. I think I'm going to co-lead a group class . . . somewhere in Oak Lawn . . . "

The music swells to the more haunting, brief fortissimo climax, and drops off eventually to the slow, quiet, alternating bass notes.

JJ snorts a nervous laugh through his nose as he leans his head back on the couch. "The cathedral sinks back into the depths, never to be seen from again. Like my chances at getting over a 50 on that piano exam. Check for me. Please."

Otabek obliges. There's a red dot as he switches tabs. He clicks it.

"You want to know? It's MUSI 175.2."

"Piano," JJ groans. "Sure. Tell me."

"Your grade is: 62.33%," Otabek reads. He hears a sharp and long inhale from JJ's side of the couch, which he's kind of leaning over to get at the laptop. "Wait, don't you have your grade from voice already? You didn't mention that."

JJ sits up and Otabek looks at him, sees him take a few moments to breathe and get control of himself, then he speaks. "Yeah, it's in Grades on there, but I'll check it after I know the parts I get."

"Why?"

"It's - I don't know, just wanna," JJ says. He rubs his palms on his knees, making a sour face. "Can I hire Phichit or one of your engg friends to calculate what I need to do for the rest of the course to get a 3.7," he says.

" _My_ friends?" Otabek almost exclaims.

"Yeah, you know, I think he's Thai, there's another guy -" JJ starts.

"Yes, I know who he is," Otabek says. He frowns. "He's not _my_ friend. We know each other. He's Yuuri's friend."

"Oh," JJ says. His eyes flicker away from Otabek's. _They are so very blue - ah, no, don't._ "How long do you have to - how much do you hang out before someone reaches Otabek's official Friend level?" JJ says half-jokingly. And Otabek suspects it's not referencing Phichit.

He just swallows and doesn't answer the question. His phone buzzes. It's Yuuri, and soon Sara. Yup, Victor got Stammi Vicino. Otabek says as much to JJ, who mutters something under his breath. He starts jiggling his leg again.

"You got . . . let's see . . . " Otabek checks the other site which Yuuri's suggested, logging in with JJ's birthday for the password in the standard format. He makes a point of committing people's birthday to (his phone's) memory. Hesitates a second before clicking the ultimate link. Results are in. "You did get _Agape,_ " he reveals the news.

"Dammit!" JJ stands up and directionlessly, shakily paces the short length of the room, pushing his hands through his hair. "You know that means I flopped Stammi, because _Agape_ was the lowest weight, and they were considering my solo piece into it and that's not there so I p-probably _failed that_ -"

"You got a part, though," Otabek says.

"-I'm not _freaking out,_ I knew this was going to happen, I _knew_ I flopped that, god, I did-" Otabek can see his chest go up, down, under his shirt, quickening, so he says,

"You're _not_ freaking out," and JJ's eyes look at him, hold for a second then snap to the straightaway and he tosses his head aside.

"Right, right, I'm - I'm not."

JJ flops down on the chair opposite Otabek, on the other side of the table, and his undercut is all messy and dark and falling in his face. This distance significantly reduces Otabek's chances of figuring out whether it's JJ himself or just his scarves that smell like lemon-wet-burnt-wood-sweet-something-more. Not that he wants to find out. Not at all.

"Your voice solo marks now?" Otabek asks.

"Shoot," JJ says grimly.

They're below average. It's clear that, yes, Agape was the default.

And that's it. That's his marks. A grim silence spreads in the room. Autoplay is off.

"It's worse because now I'll either have to do Stammi really good if I want to include it for my solo exams, and I've spent so much time on it, but they're not gonna mark it easy having heard it and rejected it before. So I probably have to learn something new. It'll take time. Too much time. I have to study theory more. I have to learn history better. I gotta practice piano . . ." JJ runs out of steam quickly. "But check yours," he says, sounding tired.

Otabek does.

He can't stop a smile.

"I got it," he says. "Why, I don't know." He silently clenches a fist in celebration.

JJ's looking at him. "I should listen to you, you should listen to me. I sucked and you did great."

Otabek shrugs one shoulder, 'cause it's true.

JJ cracks a miracle smile. And it's JJ, so it's real. "You did great. No, that's great. Your first audition. I knew they'd pick you."

Something surges in Otabek's throat because the light of the smile and the darkness under JJ's eyes shouldn't add up, but it does - it's there, plain as day, or night, but Otabek's never good at this sort of math.

JJ closes up his laptop after a spurt of silence and picks up his history book. "Back to the grind, I guess."

Otabek nods. He should study repertoire because . . . well, he's been studying, but sort of with only half a brain.

A few minutes later they've got all their stuff sprawled across the living room. It's snowing heavily outside.

"Did you actually think you'd get the part?" Otabek has to ask JJ.

"Of _course,_ why wouldn't they pick me?" JJ sighs in an exaggerated tone. "Nah, I knew Victor was the favorite, but I thought I had a chance."

Now, Otabek will admit this to himself, he really wants to hear JJ sing Stammi Vicino. So he can form his own opinion.

"I sing it differently. I think it's a legitimate interpretation. You know enough about voice now. You'd be impressed," JJ says. "You never thought I had a chance, eh?" He raises an eyebrow at Otabek.

"I've never heard you," Otabek says, instead of, "no."

"Ahah!" JJ shouts. "I have the sheets. You play. I'll sing. We'll get into the hall. No one will be there. I might have got a sixty but I didn't deserve it," he proclaims.

"Tomorrow?" Otabek asks. But JJ's already tossed his history book back on the table and is going for his jacket.

"Don't make me sing _a capella_ ," he says, zipping up his jacket.

Otabek gets up.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luckily, the janitor's cleaning somewhere in the hall, and on such a miserable day it's empty. Footsteps are too obvious in the silence as they flick on some lights from backstage and then hover around the baby grand close on stage right. Otabek lifts the cover, walks around and pulls it off. Dust flies in the lights. He always feels a kind reverence in this moment, though it's rote and plain. The black gleams, gold hinges glint. He has to open it to prop up sheets. JJ slides the cover of the keys up while he's doing that and knuckles out Turkey in the Straw or whatever that musical terror is called, grinning at Otabek, who deigns a small eye roll.

JJ evicts the seat, Otabek retakes it and shuffles the sheets open. Oh, it's not too bad. He'll definitely miss notes his first time through, but it should be enough. JJ stands in the crook and leans towards Otabek.

"Do you want to just play it first?" he asks.

"Sure," Otabek says, using it as an opportunity for sight-reading. While he does that, JJ runs through voice warmups.

Eventually they're ready. Otabek's scanning the dark rows of seats beyond the stage for signs of the janitor, to no avail.

JJ rolls his shoulders back, assumes his stance, facing the audience as if the seats are actually populated. He turns and gives his pianist a solemn nod.

Otabek figures JJ will sing it about as fast as Victor did, so he starts the rolling, legato introduction at that pace.

Now Otabek's accompanied before, so he does know that his job is to accommodate the vocalist. He has to provide the foundation.

He fails miserably at that task only bars in when his fingers freeze up because JJ's reached the end of the first phrase, and his voice has reached the whole hall, the last _o_ of _lontano_ full and sweet. Otabek doesn't realize he's stopped playing, stunned out of motion. It's hard to believe this is JJ's voice, for some reason, Otabek just thought JJ would have a brasher baritone compared to Victor but he's quite clearly a tenor. Victor commanded the song. His vibrato had demanded the attention. JJ flows lyrically, it's higher and smoother and more longing than convincing. It's sweet. There's a sweetness to the tone. Something _just right_ , something that makes Otabek's ears very happy.

Judges would stand and clap for Victor Nikiforov. They might sit back in silence for _Jean-Jacques Leroy._

Now Otabek's just looking at JJ's back, his posture, it's the best fit of confidence JJ's worn yet. And Otabek's very much not playing piano. And JJ turns to look at him. Eyebrows raised at first and then his face turns to that suave, obnoxious JJ-style look.

"Like what you hear?" JJ says, grinning in the most secondhand-embarrassingly way.

Otabek just turns back to the keys. He can feel his cheeks hot. "A bar for nothing," he manages, and starts over with one bar short to JJ's entrance. And he gets to hear that first phrase again. He gets to hear the whole song!

How he wishes he knew the accompaniment by memory so he could pay more attention. But he will, he has to. Maybe this is the only time he will hear it. He must listen. He'll have to remember it.

The opening phrases are just as beautiful and Otabek manages to keep going this time.

_"Adesso fa silencio . . ."_

\- the vowel stretches long and quiet, the vibrato almost a memory but not, sure, sure, JJ's got breath control.

_"Con una spada . . ."_

\- it's as powerful as Victor's rendition, just different, and it does make Otabek's arms prickle.

_"Vorrei serrare . . ."_

_-_ has rolled R's that charm and a slide on _vorrei._

" _Ardente passione . . ."_

 _-_ does not burst open and diminish (Victor) but swells sharp and lingers softly.

Otabek probably speeds up the piano intermission because he needs to hear what is next.

 _"Stammi vicino / non te ne andare_ -"

\- even before the climax JJ has won Otabek over completely, lilting, falling off every-so-neatly on _andare,_ and he's not ready for _ho paura di perderti_ (something like _I'm afraid of losing you_ ). It doesn't shake the hall with conviction as Victor had, but the runs are neat and JJ rushes into _le tue mani_ as the narrative rushes along, as the one left alone as well rushes to catch the hand of that impermanent companion. Otabek's swept up in the sincerity.

The last note, _pronto,_ is too much like _lontano_ to be mistaken but this is where JJ has saved his breath for and the note is long, strong, he holds it almost too long but ends with a hand raised and the other solid by his side.

JJ maintains the pose and Otabek enjoys this stillness, and he hopes JJ is taking the moment to imagine the certain applause of the imaginary crowd.

When JJ turns around, he's smiling and he looks bright and natural in the spotlight.

"I'll accompany you," Otabek's blurted before he realizes.

JJ's smile spreads. "Really? Great! That was perfect! That was so much better! God, I would've done so much better!"

"It was terrible, I was flubbing," Otabek says (really he doesn't know what he played, the last 4 minutes have been a glorious blur) as he stands.

JJ spins back to the dark, cavernous hall.

"See! See?! I'll be back! Next time, you'll hear it like that!" he yells. He turns back. "You'll really accompany me, though? Like, it's a big commitment," he says.

"Of course," Otabek blurts again.

"What a change of heart. What . . . did you think I was a really bad singer or something?"

JJ looks like he honestly might believe that and oh, that's the last thing Otabek wants JJ to think, it would break Otabek's heart.

"No - no, I thought you didn't need me."

"But I asked you! I straight up asked you! I wanted you to!"

"Didn't want you to want me to," Otabek says, and makes a face, because is that really the truth? But JJ's saving him the embarrassment of dwelling on that:

"I have three songs, probably. I don't think they're too hard. Uh, I'll get you the sheets. And I might have a new one." JJ scratches the back of his neck as they join each other to walk out. Otabek's still reeling a little from this whole revelation. "Honestly, now. I won't get mad. Is Victor really . . . did he do it better? Honestly," JJ says.

There's a pause, where JJ's hanging very seriously on Otabek's verdict.

Otabek stops and laughs sharply, and JJ looks confused at Otabek.

"Your voice is amazing, beautiful, Victor can go to hell," Otabek clarifies, and the words feel really weird coming from his own mouth. Suddenly there are arms around him and his feet leave the ground and JJ, a-full-head-taller-JJ, _JJ_ is hugging him and whirling him around. This all registers after JJ's laughing, "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" and has put him back down, rather shaken, and he's dropped the sheets over the floor, but JJ's still laughing as he gathers them, and Otabek's lost the ability to move coherently for the second time in less than 10 minutes. His VRBOPS has _definitely_ been invaded, but the alarm is flustery and unsure.

For sure Otabek's red in the face and JJ makes nothing of it but the whole string of events have tied Otabek's hands and feet and everything and for some reason, _it was only a stupid song,_ but JJ leaves for his volunteer commitment after lunch and Otabek was going to study but he can't. He was going to text Sara but he can't.

He thinks about her: she has only good qualities as far as he's seen. And he wants to want her. But he doesn't. Not that way. Still, it would be fine. His parents would approve.

Oh, at least he got the answer to his question, JJ's arms around him and his face next to his, it's not just JJ's scarves that smell that spellbinding combination of lemon and smoke and wood, it's JJ. Spellbinding. Like his voice. Like . . .

Otabek might be sure what else it's like. Maybe they're all just parts of the whole.


	9. Chapter 9

There's a good reason Otabek has locked up the door to _Possibly Being In Another Relationship_ and secured it with chains, thrown away the key. Because he feels sick at night with this responsibility on him, lying awake in bed and forced to dredge up memories and compare them with the tentative future. He hates, _hates hates hates_ thinking about him and Mila but he has to. He has to.

Mila, Mila was rich, and sexy, and smart, and they'd known each other since 9th grade, and their parents encouraged it. Her mother was high-up in the administration of the Kazakhstan National Music Academy; she corresponded between Astana and Almaty and clearly had the authority to throw money at airlines to do so. Mila's father and Otabek's worked together.

The first few months were a bit of a heady rush. Otabek changed for Mila and he still feels disgust at himself for this. He'd always been quiet (always meaning since he turned double digits, before then he was the loudest little thing you could imagine) and now he'd talk. He'd dress nice on purpose. His Instagram feed lengthened. Mila drew him into her social circles. He'd go to parties, with her. He'd do things for her. He'd take her out and buy her things.

 _I love her,_ he had thought then.

He remembers a couple weeks into _them_ she asked for this small silver and sapphire bracelet in the window. The price tag was much larger than you'd think and he'd said something to the effect of such. Mila could easily have bought these things herself. But she wanted him to buy it for her, and he'd insinuated that he didn't have to buy it, and maybe that was the first time he'd seen faults in her.

Should have guessed it, her mother was an uptight piece of work.

Small things happened. Slowly, it filtered in as Otabek talked to others that they knew things that he'd never told them, but he'd told Mila. Personal matters were bubbling out from somewhere and he asked her, but she'd been something like, _why does that matter?_ They'd be out with whoever and talking; Otabek would be silenced mid-sentence with a wave from Mila as she carried on or overrode his thought. Such a small thing. Otabek still doesn't know if he should admit to himself that he feels this was a wrong against him, or man up because _Beka, that's just petty._ They started to fight when Otabek really didn't want to go out, or worse, wanted to go out alone, and Mila could not be left behind, or needed to know where he was and got angry when he failed to tell her.

They were so _together_ that Otabek felt a little lost, and never had enough time for everything he wanted. He didn't really know if his close friends supported them or not because they weren't invited where Mila wanted to go and he didn't have time to hang out where they wanted. He'd have to ditch other things to go out with her. He stopped picking up Alina from school or driving her to her piano lessons because - _well, this is just how a relationship is,_ he'd told himself. Increasingly felt like he was just one of Mila's accomplishments; _this is just how a relationship is._

He'd caught her on _his_ phone one night and he'd had the nerve to yell at her and she'd cried, hit him, he'd apologized, _I didn't mean it Mila,_ he'd amended, but she'd stared into him with her sharp blue eyes (lighter than JJ's, dynamic, a beautiful shock against her red hair). _Prove it to me, Beka,_ she'd said, but she'd turned away his kisses.

The scratches on his cheekbone from her rings (one of which he'd bought her) were the fault of the cat, he told his parents. Not like he saw them as much any more. _I won't be home for dinner. I'm_ insert Mila's orders here, he'd force out through his teeth and his parents would _smile, have a good time! -_ his parents were _proud_ of him, to the fathers they were as good as engaged. They'd ask after Mila. They became invested. She was the perfect girl when around Otabek's family. Well, she was the perfect girl most of the time. Other guys would have given anything to be _Mila Babicheva's boyfriend._

His parents were proud of Otabek for this.

So he kept on.

 _Beka, when did I say that? You know me. I can be a little headstrong, but I love you, Beka,_ the trace of fingers wrapping around him and her perfect red lips on his, as he fights the memory of Mila yelling at him for: _not uploading the right picture, not bringing her what she asked for, not wearing the shoes she told him to for_ this _event_ (it was always something stupid and small and it would make him feel terrible later for even bringing it up because he was just being _petty_ and _accusatory_ and Mila was right).

But he kept on.

Some sort of grudging, bitter sadness is still a monster coiled inside Otabek's stomach, to this day, and that's why he hates thinking about it.

A lone spark of promise presented itself, in the middle of all this: Otabek was deigned the honor of attending some formal event with Mila to do with the Music Academy and, knowing he wanted to get in, finally had something to look forward to.

 _You're so excited about this just because you want to get into the Academy,_ Mila had accused him in a spat. _Sure, you care about me now, but you won't take me with you otherwise_ (which wasn't true, because he hadn't wanted to take her with him, but he had). _You keep wanting all this time by yourself. I thought we were dating, but you're playing hard-to-get! Are you seeing someone else? Are you cheating on me, Beka?!_

They went to the event and Mila had spent the night off his arm, on _purpose,_ giving him looks like this is a taste of his own medicine.

Otabek had tried to apologize (he didn't know what he'd done) and he'd promised to make up to her, he didn't like seeing Mila upset. Because they _did_ have lots of great times together. (More like _had_ as time went on.) Because there was chemistry between them. At first. And there still was, when Mila allowed it. Sex was on her terms. Increasingly often, Otabek had caused those terms to not be met, in one way or another.

Then, they went to the year-end club crawl and Mila got into trouble when Otabek wasn't looking (he was maybe accidentally a little drunk and dancing with someone else, though Mila had been too) and emergency vehicles came, and the police, and Mila had crossed her arms, standing in the parking lot with flashing lights. She had looked at him and he looked away.

Nothing was official, no statements lead to anything worse, but Mila told her parents and her mother told his mother that it's over and _Otabek, what did you do_ and he told _his_ side of the story and his parents sort of believed it and his chances of getting into the Kazakhstan National Music Academy under Mila's mother's watch were officially shot, much too close to the deadline to properly figure out where else to go.

He'd given Mila access to his heart and he'd been too young to defend it.

So he's here, in Canada, lying awake and wondering what the hell to say to Sara, because he _has_ to say something.

He's sure Sara is a better woman (guilt snaps at him viciously, _what do you mean, better woman? are you demonizing Mila? you were the one who-_ ) but he's over that sort of relationship, the one where you just go because everyone around you says _yeah, yeah, yeah!_ because all they can see is what's on the surface. Otabek wants someone who will understand and respect him. He doesn't want to be just an arm for a girl to hang on. He wants something natural, uninterruptive, honest.

There's an unanswered text from Sara saying _So, when are we gonna talk?_

Otabek's stomach churns and he can't sleep. Months and months of Mila and everything he did for her, with himself _for her,_ haunt him, no, he hasn't resolved it, just ignored it. Half of him is _angry, bitter, wants_ revenge _even,_ but this sentiment is used as evidence for the other half, which turns Mila's words into his own, into a vicious, acidic guilt, especially for what happened at the club crawl because he wants to be a _decent human being_ and, oh, damn it all.

Maybe it hurts him, in his gut, that his parents might be disappointed in him for this failed relationship, though they say every loving word they've always said.

Then there's JJ.

Otabek rolls over onto his other side, gnarling the sheets.

It's happened multiple times now where Otabek fully expects himself to go to (Mila because you never can erase the past) or (Sara because he's still holding out some hope that he's attracted to her, in this way) but (no, it's JJ, _fuck_ ).

And it's no different tonight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He doesn't want to be one of those people. He sort of smirks in the mirror as he shaves on Sunday morning. _Can you discriminate against yourself?_ Sure, there's a lot more publicity about _LGB-he-can't-remember-the-letters_ here and you know, he's caught himself staring at an unusual couple once or twice but he's gotten used to it now after a few months.

 _Slow down, slow down,_ he muses to himself. Maybe it's just his upbringing, what he's known for most of his life, the undercurrents in family discussions. _Those people_ have always seemed like outsiders. Maybe to be pitied. Though Otabek doesn't really agree with that now, does he? Well, he'll admit he thinks Victor and Yuuri are good together, and he's egged Yuuri on, more for the fun of it, but honestly . . . he shouldn't have anything against himself for the same.

What would his family say?

_Slow down._

What would JJ fucking him be like?

_Slow down._

And why is it JJ fucking _him_ and not the other way around-

Otabek is laughing silently at himself, razor buzzing and hovering. He's left JJ completely out of this. JJ's always got girls hanging around him and he's never shown any interest in guys. Well, maybe it isn't meant to be. Which is probably for the best. He needs to focus on academics, he tells himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Otabek is trying his best to remember the recipe from last Sunday, but he gives up because the week has been crazy and Googles _pancake recipe_ again.

JJ wanders in as he's measuring out the flour, walks straight up to him and beside him, Snapchat open and shows him something. It's a girl to mid-thighs in snow.

"Look how much snow they've got in Sudbury," JJ laughs. He's pushed into Otabek's VRBOPS yet again but it's starting to deflate too easily, more curious for the warmth and contact.

"Who's that," Otabek asks. JJ taps the screen, pulling away, picture changes to the same girl, same day, same place, holding up fingers in the shape of two Js.

"Bella, we dated for a few years, childhood friend."

"Long distance not working?" Otabek asks.

"Nah, we broke up during the summer."

"Still looks like you're good friends."

"Yeah, she means a lot to me."

Otabek snorts. Isn't that usually code for _I think we should be more than friends?_ "Why'd you break up?"

JJ's sat down on the couch.

"Oh, I realized I was gay."

Otabek is ever so glad he's cooking and has got his face turned away because it's 100% red at this point. He's sure to develop a permanent blush if things keep proceeding like this.

"You gonna ask Sara out? Or, idk, update your Facebook relationship status?" JJ continues. Otabek steals a quick glance back and JJ's just on his laptop, scrolling through the pdf assignment. Something about _natural, uninterruptive, honest._

Otabek stirs the batter, getting the flour lumps out.

"No," he says, the answer cutting the air a full minute after JJ's finished the question.

"Huh?" JJ says, looking up from D2L.

Otabek stops stirring. His fist is tight around the spoon. _What would family say/he doesn't want to be one of those people/he and Mila, he and Mila had something/it's just the new environment/he_ cannot _be attracted to JJ/in theory he and Sara are an impending couple/in reality he jerks off to the thought of JJ with him, skin to skin/_ is it this possible to feel so unsure of yourself and unready, he thought he was past this, this is the sort of identity crisis you should have at 15, not at 19.

"I don't know if I want a girl," Otabek says, facing away from JJ real hard. (That sentence could be taken a couple ways.)

"Sure, when's the wedding for you and your GPA?" JJ laughs.

"I might want something else," Otabek says, more to himself, hand still apparently deciding whether to resume stirring the batter or not (the air bubbles are rising to the top). Then JJ's beside him with a hand on his shoulder, leaning around to face him (his gaze tilted down) and Otabek turns to him (his gaze tilted up, eyes meet).

"I see," JJ says, there's a smirk-smile around his lips before he leans in and Otabek's thoughts just melt into a spark that bursts slowly into a red realization that Jean-Jacques Leroy is kissing Otabek Altin.

Jean-Jacques Leroy is _kissing_ Otabek Altin.

Otabek's leaning back every so slowly and JJ's leaning forward and the moment stretches, like _lontano_ or _pronto_ has from these same lips. Does it have to be one? No, it's both at the same time. Far away, so soon.

Softly and sweetly as it has lasted, it pulls away. JJ hovers close so Otabek can see the darker radial lines in his irises.

"Something to go on, while you decide," JJ says, and goes back to the couch and the theory homework just the same.

Otabek stands there. He turns himself back to the pancakes but he's really a mess now and good thing he's mixed the batter up because otherwise it would turn into a toxic concoction. As it is, he bungles with the frying pans (turns the heat on too high) and oil (almost forgets it) and goodness, it's all he can do to flip the damn things, his heart is flipping enough inside his ribs for all the pancakes he'll make this semester combined.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Roommate:** _Lol uh sorry man about kissing u yesterday,_

_I should have asked first_

_Hope u weren't uncomfortable or something_

_but if u are please say_

_It was fuckin great on my part tho_

_but seriously I get it if u are not there_

(Read 10:32 a.m.)

**Roommate:** _Orabek_

_*Otabek_

_seriously i'm actually sorry_

_I just wanted to and u were saying was a good excuse_

_I should have asked_

(Read 12:55 p.m.)

**Roommate:** _I'm still coming to ur practice_

_u can punch me if u want_

_but I'm coming_

_I'm saying it to ur face_

(Read 1:20 p.m.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I think this might be about 12 chapters. at least this first part (which is semester one). if ppl like it I might do semester two. (where enters a new character who has mysteriously been left out until now??)  
> Also I'm sorry for the huge exposition at the beginning. Maybe at some point, I'll move it earlier in the narrative to avoid confusion? I tried to edit it down, but as a writer, I'm terrible at that, so here you go.   
> I also officially apologize to Mila for making her such a terrible person in this story, I otherwise adore her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should wait longer before updating but I really just wanna finish this haha

"So I get you're leaving me on read, Otabek, I just wanted to say-"

JJ bursts into Otabek's practice room where Otabek's just drilling the F# minor formula to try and clear his head, to steady himself, because nothing has been working all day. He's been getting frustrated because he can't just put this now very obvious issue aside, he's frustrated because he's moved further and met new challenges, because if he _pretends_ it was cool but he's not into JJ he'll be lying but if he _admits_ it then all the chains and locks come flying off that relationships door shut closed in his heart.

When he sees JJ - it looks as if JJ's gone through another round of terrible midterms because he's babbling and he's clearly very concerned and nervous and Otabek feels for him, something he can't name. But it makes Otabek feel more human, when he's been binding himself inwards in the name of protection ever since Mila.

"No, no, it's fine, I'm just . . . figuring it out," Otabek says, standing up as JJ shuts the door, cutting off whatever kind of apology JJ's trying to make.

"So- so what does that mean," JJ says, eyebrows jacked up, he's looking pretty helpless.

"It means it's, uh, been awhile," Otabek says.

"Oh," JJ says. "Ok, uh. I have the sheets. If you're still chill with accompanying." JJ pulls a folder out of his messenger bag.

"Of course," Otabek says.

JJ hands him the papers.

There's a tense silence.

"You said you wanted to," Otabek blurts.

"Wanted to what? Oh, like, yeah," JJ says. "I have probably wanted to kiss you since the second week of classes."

"What?" Otabek says. "Second week?"

"It took me that long to figure out you're not an asshole, you just look like one," JJ says, cracking a grin. Otabek frowns. JJ raises his hands. "You just got that resting bitch face and, like, rich kid outfit thing, silent treatment vibe going on," he says.

"That's it." Otabek struggles with the words. "Why would you want to? Why me? I'm . . . I'm _shit_ at things like this. People. Especially two people. I know I come across cold-"

"Sure, maybe but you - you care. You help when you know you have to. You're talented. You're committed and you don't get shaken, you've got all these things I admire and you're hot as fuck . . . Beka," JJ says, raising an eyebrow.

"Where'd you pick that one up," Otabek says, his heart jumping and _god, he's blushing again._

"It's a good nickname, your parents called you that on the Skype chat," JJ enthuses.

It sounds too good coming from JJ.

"And are you always JJ, or sometimes Jean?" Otabek says, pronouncing the soft J in the best inflection he can. And this time he thinks he's succeeded in making JJ a bit red.

"Very part-time that," JJ says, looking down. "But so you know - if we're friends and that's it, it's chill." JJ's expression relaxes, he rolls his shoulders back, hooking a thumb under the strap of his bag. "And you can take this all as an extended compliment."

Otabek's heart melts and surges up into his throat at the tinge of sadness around JJ's eyes.

He can't let this one get away.

Quickly he closes the space between them, goes up on his tiptoes, and now _Otabek Altin is kissing Jean-Jacques Leroy_ , the latter of who is suitably startled and goes back a few paces before they steady and he returns it, his arms around Otabek, Otabek's one hand on his chest.

It's a different kiss, it's more demanding, and Otabek breaks it soon enough and he smirks at JJ's expression.

"Now how to let Sara down," Otabek says then, taking his phone from the piano bench.

"Uh, heh," JJ says, and Otabek can't believe he's, _he's, Otabek Altin has,_ put the stars in those eyes, "nice."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This emotion Otabek feels is the height of happiness and the height of anxiety. Because he doesn't want to tell anyone. Not yet. He doesn't know if he's ready to be seen like this sort of person (read: he isn't, and mostly because for sure his parents are not). He tells JJ this, kind of, when Otabek gets back later than JJ, as usual, the next night, and for the first time, JJ leans into his doorframe at 10:03 p.m. (looking sleepless as recently usual) and says,

"So, can I just ask, what are we?"

Otabek, laptop open, stops reaching for his headphones.

"Something slow," Otabek says. "Can we keep it . . . quiet. I'm still figuring things out." He hates sounding so hesitant, when his heart is screaming to take it all in one leap and bound, but he has to be careful, still, this prospect comes with more ramifications, it's uncertain yet.

JJ tilts his head, removes a hand from the frame, and gives Otabek a thumbs up.

"Anything for you, mon cher, my darling accompanist," he grins. And it isn't voice-teacher-JJ saying _mon cher,_ it's plain old JJ. It's honest-to-goodness JJ. "My dear Beka. Beka, Beka, Beka." Oh, that's Otabek's favorite, that's what makes him weak. "Eh, what else is there? My last name means The King. How about yours?"

 _Well, that explains his stupid song he sings,_ Otabek thinks less derisively and more affectionately. "Golden," he mutters, cause he's just adding fuel to the fire, the sort that makes his cheeks burn.

"Hmmmm, then, how about that, Golden boy," JJ says in a sing-song tone. "OK, goodnight." He leaves with a little laugh.

Otabek was going to ask him about if he was tired and why but he supposes not tonight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Otabek still sits across the room in Theory. He still hangs out with Yuuri, Phichit, Leo, Sara (they're on good terms, he let her down gently and soon enough) and JJ with his group. Things are getting a little annoying since Victor is slowly swapping seats to inch closer towards Yuuri every class (and certainly everyone's caught on, and certainly everyone can see the looks he gives the Japanese pianist who, and this amuses Otabek, _purposefully_ avoids eye contact). And JJ still comes to Otabek's practice sessions, and they've managed to extend the bookings so really they just spend afternoon hours in the same space, both singing and playing in turn. Rehearsals start for real, full force, and that starts swallowing up evenings, and in turn, causing weekends to be busier, leaving less time for studying; or, less time for doing anything but.

Maybe they sit closer, maybe the space between them is softer.

But the coil of worry and desire just winds conflictingly tighter in Otabek's stomach. The monster is some strange emotion he can't quite name, or maybe doesn't want to. He sees JJ give him wondering sidelong looks, but still, lets him be, have his space.

"You stressed about finals?" Leo asks him as they're in the (forever 20+ people long) lineup at one of the Tim's on campus. Though they don't take any of the same classes, Leo seems to like Otabek's company, or maybe he just wants to befriend him enough to use Otabek's expensive gear. It's probably the latter, but Otabek doesn't mind. Leo's going into producing (though probably dropping out of engineering) and it doesn't hurt to have connections.

"Not really," Otabek shrugs. Repertoire is a pain to stuff in his brain, but he's more used to the examination format now, and he did well on midterms, so how bad could finals be? He's putting in the work, he goes to talk to profs if he needs to know something, it should be fine. No, that's the least of his worries.

"'Cause you're, like, super wound-up. Yo, wanna go to the hockey game on Thursday night? Me 'n some others in my block are getting tickets."

Otabek shakes his head. "No."

Leo gives him a half-hearted side-bump. Otabek flinches (his VRBOPS does, standing in this line is bad enough). Leo's wearing some quilted bomber, Hershel backpack off one shoulder, phone in hand. "You're just really fucking tense, man." Leo goes back to his phone, fingers flying. "You and that girl hooked up yet?"

Otabek's staring off into the middle distance, somewhere by a group of kids in the hall yelling about how drunk they got at the Hollow and what they did.

A stronger bump from Leo. Otabek rolls his shoulders in in annoyance.

"What?" he says.

"You know. Sat next to you at Card's."

"Oh. No. Not interested," Otabek says.

Leo lets out this long, effortful _ha, ha_ of his.

"So hard-to-get, rich boy."

Otabek frowns. Somehow everyone has figured out Otabek comes from money. He thought, for some reason, his family's level of affluence would be the norm here. Apparently not. Well, he has heard talk about how bad the economy is.

"Hey, in my block there's this girl, Ariana, she's half-Filipino, half-black, she's fucking sexy but I'm so out of her league. I could give you her number-"

"No," Otabek says.

"Just tryna do you a favor." Leo goes back to his phone. "Hey, did Loranz contact you about a couple new tracks? Apparently she's fishing for a producer."

"Never heard," Otabek says.

"Yeah you have, man, she did a collab with like . . . with, uh, I think it was Dabin or something, a couple months ago . . ."

"You're the producer, not me. I'm thinking about Galantis' new release."

"Yeah, that just sounds like alotta fucking trouble to me. It's too new. Maybe in a couple weeks. Hey man, cool if I bounce some demos off you if Loranz takes me?"

Otabek's not really listening. He's not really thinking about Galantis' new release either. He's thinking about how much he wants JJ beside him and how much he'll deny himself the same.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It's been a month since midterms ended. It's about two weeks to the end of classes. Otabek hasn't told his parents if he's flying back home or not. They've assumed he is, but they haven't discussed it.

Trying, and failing, to extricate this human, caring feeling he has for JJ from the tangled context of what he first felt for Mila, Otabek tries to be rational. Because he does care for JJ. When he noticed that JJ's pill bottle stopped depleting at a good dosage rate, he asked him about it, and JJ had just shaken his head and said he couldn't take the exhaustion and sleeplessness, side effects. And Otabek had found himself saying something like _if you need me, just say,_ and JJ had given him one of those all-too-honest heart-stopping smiles, reflux of guilt into Otabek's throat because he feels like he's not giving back. And he's not. But he doesn't have to. But he doesn't _want_ to be in this position. He wants to move beyond this.

JJ is pretty much the exact opposite of Mila, in every way and habit Otabek can compare them. But he can't break the patterns in which he's learned to think and feel; but it is the huge disparity between these two that causes Otabek to tell himself _quiet!_ because of his family. Every time he pushes his imagination further to _what if we went further, what if,_ it ends up fueling the reality he doesn't want. He can picture the hardness of his mother's face when she's disappointed in him, and he never wants to see it again, how she looked after the club crawl and the breakup, learning Otabek had failed, destroyed what she and his father tried their best to nurture. He knows his father's clipped words that have never quite grown back. Oh, they only want the best for him, but they're no pushovers, they _will set out_ the best for him and he'll choose it, if he knows what's good for him.

Besides that, there's the few friends he's managed to make. Relationships always change everything, they change more than they're supposed to.

Besides _that,_ Otabek has this despairing feeling that he can't keep up his distance, he can't do what he knows is safe and what won't rock the boat because every time he looks into those blue eyes or he gets close to him or wraps his scarf close in the winter air it's like a lurching, _oh, no,_ in his stomach, which feels a whole lot like the sort of love you're trying to ignore, and his heart does flips in agreement. (The whole scarf thing is troublesome, because the more Otabek keeps JJ's scarves the less they smell like him, so he _must_ let JJ steal them back and keep them for a while, but he's yet to discover what time is most efficient to let JJ keep his scarves before Otabek can take them again.)

His mind goes back to the kiss(es), he's left wanting, then his soul constricts and there's a sour taste at the back of his throat that still does nothing to depress his desire.

So it's Friday afternoon (no classes today) when Otabek gets back in from (the gym, studying, practicing). Stewing in what he's been stewing in all week, he just wants to lie down and put his headphones on. But JJ interrupts him, coming out to the living room area as Otabek's taken his boots off and is carrying his backpack by its top hook, intent on the short trek to his room.

JJ scratches the back of his head. He looks like he's being serious when he says,

"Hey, so Beka," (and JJ calls him this when it's just the two of them now), "can I say something?"

Otabek gives him a nod/shrug. Since when does JJ need permission to talk? "Sure."

"It's about us. Uh, this isn't supposed to be harsh. Or pushy. But you have to make up your mind."

Otabek puts his backpack on the floor and waits for JJ to keep going; JJ takes a breath and continues.

"I understand about taking things slow. But there's a difference between moving slow and not moving at all."

Stiffening a little, Otabek swallows.

"Basically I'm saying, if you want us to be together, let's be together. You know? I don't know if you've had an SO before, but I mean, it's not supposed to be a secret."

"I'm not trying to make it one," Otabek says. JJ crosses his arms.

"Yeah, well, you haven't told anyone. Anything. It's not that though. You kissed me a week and some ago, and since then, nothing. There's no _us_ at all. I thought maybe, at least, we'd, I don't know-"

"We're busy with finals," Otabek cuts him off. He doesn't want to talk about this now.

JJ gives him a _come on, man_ look. "No, I think you're busy with something else. We've lived together for almost a whole semester. You're acting different. I don't know what your problem is-"

"I don't have a problem, if I do, it's you. You said you'd give me space."

"And I have, but you can't keep me hanging-"

"So what do you want me to do? Hold your hand, be public, make a show?"

JJ half-scowls. "No, of course not, I just want an answer! And if it's yes, which I think it is, from everything I can tell that happened, I want to do shit together! You know, just _be_ together! In class or getting lunch or going out, you know, we could go out together, I've thought of things we'd both enjoy, maybe. Instead of you all distanced and brooding-"

"Oh, so it's about going out together?"

Frowning, JJ says, "Well, you just _talking_ to me instead of avoiding eye contact would be great for a start."

"We're talking right now. Where are you pulling all these demands from?"

"They're not demands, they're completely reasonable expectations. And we're talking?! Don't pull that, I can tell you'd rather be shut up in your room on your laptop-"

Otabek hasn't ever seen JJ get this close to being angry, but he doesn't care. The resentment and worry inside him is eager to spew out, to burn.

"Yeah, maybe I _would_ rather do that than hear about what _you_ want from me," Otabek grinds out, his tone of voice rising.

"What _I_ want?! Look, I have to be like this because you're giving me nothing! Zilch! I can't figure out what is wrong!" JJ has his hands on his head. "Do you have an SO already?" he gestures wildly like this is his last guess.

"Of _course not,_ " Otabek almost shouts.

"Then fuck! Why be this way? Why not just talk to me? This _is_ about what I want, maybe, for _us!_ Not for me, for us!"

Otabek laughs, ridiculing. Oh, so trying to paint himself as a selfless character? He remembers the _J.L._ inked on JJ's back. "This from the man with his own initials tattooed on his back."

JJ's expression distorts in shock for a electrifying second and then all Otabek's derision vanishes when JJ grabs him by the collar of his leather jacket and jerks him off-balance, in close, he's _furious,_ " _THEY'RE NOT MINE!",_ he yells, breath hot in his face, and he shoves Otabek back, releases him. Otabek catches himself on the edge of the couch, stumbling: this is a side to JJ he's never wanted to see: fury.

JJ struggles in a few breaths, hands clenched, rage rearranging to something like a pained expression, and then he turns and retreats.

Otabek slowly gets back to his feet, the curdling mix of emotions that's been sitting in his stomach for the past while gone, instead a unsteadiness in realizing that he may have just screwed up. A lot.

He slowly goes to JJ's room. The man is sitting on the floor against the side of the bed, which has hoodies and textbooks and papers thrown across a half of it. His hands cover his face; he's shaking.

Here is a choice for Otabek to make.

 _Something like,_ if you need me, just say. And there's a lump in Otabek's throat.

He sits beside JJ.

"God, I'm s-sorry," JJ says. _Is he crying?_ Constricted gasps and hitches in breath. _Is it his panic issue? Is it both?_

"No, I've been . . . I've been stupid. You just think too much of me," Otabek says quietly.

"Okay no it's just - it's just a bad time, December 2nd is tomorrow and - god, you don't have to sit here," JJ says. He glances at Otabek and his eyes are red. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Shut up for once, JJ, I'm sorry," Otabek says. JJ leans his forehead into his arms crossed, propped on his knees.

Otabek waits.

"J.L. stands for Jenay Leroy," JJ says. "3 years and one day ago. She had this disease where she got seizures - they gradually increased, she stopped being able to see, lost her motor skills - the worst part - the worst part was she stopped learning so well and then - mentally, she went - went backwards - it was really rare -"

JJ's choking back tears between phrases, takes a struggling breath. "We took her to specialists in the states. In the end, it didn't work - all my parents got out of it was bill after bill like a - like a death penalty, too - they sold everything - they work like horses - but here I am - chasing my s-stupid dreams that will never make a cent to-" JJ's smushed his face in his hands by this point, expression contorted, and he breaks down, he's sobbing.

Instinctively Otabek wraps his arms around him and grabs him tight, feels JJ shudder, doesn't let go. He'll cry and cry and struggle to gasp for a breath and repeat, and Otabek just says quietly in his ear, "breathe."

Gradually, as they sit, warm together, JJ's heaving breaths and tears subside, jerkingly. Eventually he steadies somewhat. He stretches his legs out as far as they can go before his feet are against the wall. He and Otabek lean together.

"I made that song for her," JJ says, his voice hoarse.

"What?"

"The one I always sing. You probably hate it. About ruling the world. It was with her name, for her. It was about the Queen at first. Then she sang it to me with my name one day. She was ten. She - I don't know, she was out of school by then and I didn't expect it but - " JJ swipes the back of his sleeve across his eyes. "I should be over it," he mutters. "I should be better by now."

"No," Otabek says a little harshly. JJ looks at him. "You don't ever have to get over it," Otabek says, slowly at first, "you just have to be strong enough to carry it with you as you keep going," he finishes.

JJ half-smiles. "I guess. I mean, I know my parents want me to do this. I just wish I'd been strong enough to say no. I wish I could've put my foot down and said, _no, I'm going to learn how to build bridges or dig wells and pop out of school in four years, work another four, get my iron ring and get you out of debt and into a nice house in Kelowna,_ but - I couldn't." He drops his head. "I love music too much," he whispers, and it feels like it's just the tension in his throat that has forced it out this way, accidental and betraying.

Otabek's silent. The shame in JJ's tone pierces him to the heart, and Otabek wants to grab him and yell at him, _you've done nothing wrong!,_ but of course, that wouldn't help.

"I don't know what I was trying to say earlier," JJ recovers. "Not that. I guess I just want an answer. I thought that was reasonable," JJ offers. "But-"

"No, you're right," Otabek says. "I used to have an SO." (Otabek's learned what this slang term means through Phichit.) He tells JJ about Mila. He intends to give the quick version but JJ prods him along with questions and soon Otabek is venting the whole story. He can feel the accusations fall out and quickly on their heels run the guilty remorse.

"So I failed my parents more than you ever might have, which, you didn't. You did what they wanted. I didn't. And now . . . I know if I tell them about us, it won't go well. I'll fail them again. They want me to marry well, and well means a rich girl with familial connections," Otabek concludes, the first of three parts. That's the easiest to say. And the second. "And I know you're not Mila, I feel like I want to be close to you, but then there's an anger . . . or tension . . . and a lot of anxiety, and I want to push you away. For some reason. I don't know what this is or why."

"Fear," JJ says.

That fills in the blank perfectly for Otabek.

"I mean, you were trying to protect yourself. It's probably habit. You didn't see a counsellor?" JJ says.

"No, why?" Otabek shrugs.

"Man, you should, after hearing that," JJ says.

Otabek breathes in. "There's one more thing."

"What?" JJ says.

Otabek is very uncertain and reluctant to say this, but JJ is the only person he can think of saying it to. "Remember Sunday morning, you showed me your ex's Snapchat and then told me you were gay?"

"Sure."

"You seemed very relaxed about it."

"Sure, yeah. It's not a big deal."

Otabek looks at his hands. At some point he's laced his fingers together and turned the lattice palms up, bending his hands back, white and red with the stress.

"I don't know . . . if I can let that be a part of me, even if it is, I don't know how to accept it," Otabek says. "I've been taught . . . not explicitly, but . . . it's _wrong._ Maybe fine for other people, but if I were-" Otabek chokes on his own words, he feels his eyes watering, he begs his own soul not to betray him so.

This time it's JJ who puts an arm around Otabek.

They sit for awhile.

"Well, Beka," JJ says, "It's very clear now that there will be problems if we pursue _us_ further. Specifically, your parents. More importantly, you. This could just be a very awkward soul-searching week-and-some in which awkward things happen and you can leave it all behind."

This sounds very sad to Otabek, and JJ sounds sad too.

"But somehow I don't think you'll be able to if you wanted," JJ says.

"No," Otabek says. "But I don't know how to go on."

"Maybe you should take your own advice."

"What?"

"Uh, be strong and carry it with you and keep going anyways? Something like that."

"I'm not strong, Jean." When Otabek hears himself say this it's as clear and sharp as glass and even takes him by surprise because, well, _of course he's strong, he's got money, he's got talent and good grades and he_ could _have a trophy wife and inherit his father's business holdings and live around the globe in different mansions, work with famous pop artists and maybe sponsor high-profile classical music concerts._

Or he could have the person sitting next to him, and so much more.

"Well, maybe it takes two to carry everything forward," JJ says. He gets up. "I'm sorry for spewing everything on you."

"I'm sorry for assuming about your tattoo. And . . . for being like this, this week."

"That's fine." JJ snorts a laugh out his nose. "Guess the past has got both our heads, eh? I'm going for a walk. I'll be back soon. Gotta just walk off all this." JJ motions with a pointed finger to the side of head, and leaves, grabbing a scarf and gloves off the bed first.

Otabek doesn't need to clear _his_ head. He has his answer.


	11. Chapter 11

Saturday when Otabek wakes up, JJ is still asleep, or at least in his room. So, Otabek heads out to do his usual routine: to practice, to the gym, and then back to study. It's about 11:15 when he re-enters the dorm (he's practicing something extra on the side, which he shouldn't be around finals time, but, oh well). Outside, there's no snow, but ice crystals fill the air and he wraps his scarf up higher around his nose to keep warm. The little pond in one of the quads by Education is thickly frozen over by now. Most people he passes by are headed to the library or Camme Hall, walking quickly in the -28 with wind chill temperature.

He wonders how JJ will be today. With what little he was told, he at least knows it's the anniversary of his sister's death. Otabek contemplates staying out, but he's sure that things are better between them now.

JJ's eating porridge, sitting at the table with his socked feet up on the other chair, history notes open in front of him. Seeing Otabek enter, JJ casts him a chin-tilt-and-smile as Otabek hangs up his jacket and mitts and picks up his backpack. He passes JJ on his way to his room and rests his hand on his shoulder, for a moment as he walks by.

"Are you doing anything today?" Otabek asks after he's put away his stuff, tucked his repertoire notes etc. under his arm and come back out into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

"Nah," JJ says.

They're not talking about _them,_ but it's not the tension as it was before. It's a peaceful acknowledgement now, just a still waiting.

"Do you . . . want to come out with me tonight?"

"Where?"

"The club around 8th avenue downtown. Live Wire."

"I dunno, man, I don't usually, uh, do that stuff," JJ says. "I've got a commitment with Music Box till 7."

"I'll pick you up," Otabek insists.

JJ raises an eyebrow.

"It won't be bad. You'll enjoy it," Otabek continues. "There's good music. Unless you don't like that kind of-"

"Oh, nah, it's fine. Like, house music? Sure. I don't really drink, though."

Otabek shakes his head. "That's fine, I don't drink at all."

"Sure, then," JJ agrees.

Otabek sits on the couch and starts going over Haydn's life and compositions.

JJ joins him after a few minutes.

"Maybe I'll try a drink today, for the occasion," he amends.

"What you told me yesterday . . . " Otabek says quietly, "whatever you're thinking about, don't think that you shouldn't be here, doing music. You should." He's not got the nerve to admit, to confess, that as tight as he's been wound this week, practicing accompanying JJ and hearing him sing was, every time, a shot straight through the ears to the heart. Something sort of shot that makes his heart flip and his soul sing. He told JJ to still do Stammi for his exams. If the adjudicators don't like it, damn them all.

"Hah, thanks," JJ says. "It doesn't matter a lot. My GPA will decide if I stay or not," he says grimly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It's much to cold to bike, but good thing Otabek's leased a car for temperatures like this. It's a dark red 2017 Honda Accord; he just wanted something with space to put his stuff in the backseat and trunk. Now he pulls up to the church in Edgeworth where Music Box is using a room or something. _Here,_ Otabek texts JJ, and idles outside the door, because it's cold and he would like to stay where he is, with the heat blasting and his seat warm. Outside, it's pretty much dark; the sky no longer has any sunset colours, leaving blue to darken to black. Still no snow, just cold.

For several minutes cars, vans and truck pull up and parents go in and come out with children. None of the vehicles look as new and shiny as Otabek's. All in all, Otabek counts, the group seems to be made of 16 or 17 children. The sounds come muffled from outside. Quiet, clearer music plays inside the car. OVERWERK's Canon, a reinvention of a theme from Vltava, a symphonic poem by Bedrich Svetana. One of the interesting things a music education gives Otabek, the ability to hear where a modern composer has stolen something from hundreds of years ago. Even if that modern composer is a washing machine. The paid laundry that Otabek prefers for his gym and dress clothes over the old machine in their dorm beeps out a theme from Schubert's _Die Forelle_ quintet, when it's completed its assigned cycle. Thinking of that reminds Otabek vaguely of JJ. Did JJ say he sang the art song? Somewhere at the beginning of the semester? Otabek can't remember, but he does recall that JJ said he likes Debussy. That fact has stuck.

After the flow of pick-ups stops, a warm light slits open from a side door and Otabek leans to see; yup, it's JJ, with a few other people. They look like they laugh and leave closing remarks as they split up, others heading to their parked cars, JJ heading to where he spots Otabek.

The car door opens and JJ slides in, shuts the door promptly after him. He looks over the sleek console and display.

"Nice, who'd you borrow this from?" he asks Otabek.

"Just leased it for the winter," Otabek answers.

JJ grins and huffs a laugh through his nose, reaching to the backseat to toss a binder and set of papers there. "Rich boy," he comments, almost lovingly. Otabek shrugs, signals, pulls out and whips around the lot, leaving faint tracks in the icy, powdery layer of snow on the ground.

JJ whistles a strand of the JJ song. Otabek's just going to call it his theme song.

"You're in a good mood," Otabek comments as they pull up to a red light.

"Doing music with the kids always puts me in a better mood," JJ says. "You should come with me. I keep telling you to sign up. Hey, you should, trade me for me coming with you this time."

"But this is fun."

"So is volunteering."

JJ looks to the backseat again, at Otabek's bags and stuff.

"I never did ask what you were doing with your friends every weekend, but I figured it was the club or something. You have a lot of stuff here. Do you just store it?" JJ babbles on.

"You can help me carry it," Otabek says. They're getting close, traffic's getting thicker as they near downtown. Or uptown, it's the part of the city with newer buildings and destinations. He glances at JJ, who's wearing a loose sock-monkey-type sweater and blue jeans, bundled in a grey knit scarf. His profile: undercut fringing over, dark eyebrows, dark blue eyes, strong nose with a cute (cute? Otabek mentally slaps himself for using _cute_ as an adjective, but can't come up with something better) upturn at the end. Attractive as ever. He can say that now, right? He's allowed to. He wants to. Damn it, he will. "You look good, but it's nothing to wear to the club."

"Huh?" JJ says. He looks down at his clothes. "I don't know, I don't have any club clothes. What are club clothes? You're pretty dressed down. Oh, but you got the black wash jeans. And hair slicked back, going for sexy- mmf!"

Otabek jabs his hand back behind his seat, grabs a jacket and throws it in JJ's face to shut him up before he can make him blush.

JJ holds the thing out in front of him. "Oh, this? Ha, sure. I never wear it."

It's a good quality leather jacket.

"I looked in your closet and that was all I could find," Otabek says.

"It's fine, it was a going-away thing from Bella," JJ says, occupying himself for the rest of the drive by struggling out of his sweater and into the jacket from the confines of his seat.

They pull around the back of Live Wire, its name in blue lights. Busy tonight. It's the second-biggest club in the city.

Otabek parks near a back door. JJ and him get out. The frigid air registers quickly.

"Careful with my Maschine," Otabek says, handing JJ a rather compact case. It's like the size of a few textbooks.

The taller man looks disappointed as he holds it in both arms. "Thought you needed me to help you carry stuff in."

"I do, you are," Otabek says. He slings a large, and heavy, rectangular bag around his back, then pops the trunk and lugs out the Alto TS212. In the other hang he grabs a bag from the backseat as well, then hits the lock button on the fob. The Accord blinks in response. They head to the door, JJ tagging behind Otabek. Otabek can feel JJ quickly putting the pieces together in his head.

When he opens the door and props it open for JJ to safely carry his modest but precious load indoors, there's a wide grin on JJ's face.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I got it," he half-sings. "Lots of stuff? Back door access? You DJ!"

Otabek snorts, a smile appearing on his face in return.

"Beka, you didn't tell me this! This is sweet! Why - " JJ's cut off as they make it to a room with some seats and lots of signed posters hanging on the walls and a table with some drinks on it. Anya is there and she greets Otabek, he hears the details that she's broken up with Georgi (again) he must suffer through before she lets him through to set up. Meanwhile in the corner of his eye JJ's looking around at all the papers hanging on the wall, mouth a little open, as he cradles the Maschine MK2 in his arms. Clearly even JJ knows enough about popular music to recognize some of the headlining names from his expression.

JJ is (and Otabek mentally slaps himself again) adorable, standing there. Otabek's wondering how the _fuck_ he's managed to stay this long without falling head-over-heels for his roommate. Well, he's put it off long enough.

"And who's this?" Anya's asking. She's got her dark hair lusciously curled in a wave over half her face, tight red dress, red heels, red lips. Otabek knows she's interested. Anya's always interested.

"Jean, my roommate," Otabek says. They shake hands. JJ smiles, _nice to meet you._ Anya's quite charmed. Sourly Otabek wishes she knew that's how he treats everyone.

They head out, the music getting louder, just some generic playlist until now.

Out in the club it's pretty full already. Blue lights line the ceiling; on the stage, lights that fade from orange to green-blue stud the hollow surrounding the stage, still dim; most of the circular couches set on the shiny floors are full and the bar is busy, above it a hood of lights that sweep to all different colors. The second level balconies even have people milling around, holding their drinks.

There's an obvious shift in attentions as Otabek comes out and starts setting up. He's very satisfied with himself as he transfers care of the Maschine back to himself and lets JJ just stand there and look around.

"It hurts my eyes," JJ comments as Otabek unzips and stands up all his equipment. Some staff busy themselves at the front of the stage arranging speakers and checking yet more lights that make short arcs across the front of the stage.

"Yeah, it's nothing artistic," Otabek says. He hooks his equipment up and the staff give him the thumbs up, just as Leo runs on stage.

"Yo," Leo says, panting with the exertion of hauling his own gear in. "So we're doing the first set together, right? First the Garrix then . . ."

Otabek's busy going through stuff with Leo. The producer-and-engineering-dropout-in-the-making has green studs in, hair loose, wearing another signature bomber with something embroidered on the back, ripped jeans and converse studded at the toes. By the time they're both set up and Otabek looks around to JJ, JJ says,

"I'm going to get a drink," with a grin and arched eyebrows that say _I'm going on a great adventure into unknown territory._ He disappears off stage almost simultaneously as the background music shuts off and the dim stage lights brighten. Strobes above the stage flash on; the floor starts pulsing with light blue circles and the hood above the bar starts scrolling in huge letters "GLDN", then "with", then "de1ach".

The floor fills; people get off their couches; more people come in; Otabek and Leo nod at each other and kick off the night with their collab remix of Garrix's new one. Lights flicker, speeding up during the build and set in heavy and bright with the drop.

Otabek likes being on stage with Leo. He prefers to keep his head relatively low, black-and-red headphones around his neck, working the sequencer, letting the bass nod his head for him. The club's keyboard (top-of-the-line) is on his right side, the maschine in front of him. Leo and him share the Kontrol. Leo's the hype man. The crowd loves him. He grooves and jumps and yells and gets into it.

But Otabek hasn't got his gaze trained on his instruments as usual. No, he's looking for JJ in the crowd and failing spectacularly between the sheer amount of people gathered and the hectic lights, dark to bright to dark to bright in split seconds.

Why does Otabek enjoy this? He can't quite put it into words. He loves future bass, future house, modern electronic music, as heretical as that is to a classical music major. There's something about being the fuel for the fire of the crowd, something about his name in lights, GLDN ( _almost-alter-ego_ ), something about the sheer visual and aural overstimulation that gives him a rush. Time flies when he's on stage.

Soon enough, they've gone through their set and Leo's done. He doesn't have enough material to keep going for as long as Otabek. He doesn't really do original tracks. Switching back to the generic playlist for a break, Otabek steps down off stage. Leo's in the crowd. Otabek always goes to the back for water. It's usually empty, but if they're present, Anya or Anya/Georgi (they manage the place) will shake their heads and comment on what a weird DJ he is, drinking water of all things, sitting back by himself.

So Otabek sits and drinks his water. He's alone until JJ bursts in. The voice major's got something alcoholic in his hand, only half-empty. JJ gestures wildly.

"This is crazy! Not, like the club, I mean, it's how I expected. You! You're, like," and all JJ can do is roll his hand in an expression that signifies _you know what I mean!_

Otabek shrugs, but he knows he's got a satisfied smile on his face. "Enjoying yourself?"

JJ glances back, then down, then back up. "Uh, there's a lot of people," he says. "Not really my type of people." He's red in the face, but not from alcohol. Holding the glass up, he comments, "I just randomly tried something. Some chick was hitting on me. She was all, _try this,_ it's called a seven seven or something?"

"Seven and seven," Otabek corrects.

JJ takes a sip and makes a face. "I can see how some people would like it but - eh." He swipes his hair back, still holding the drink. "I don't know what to do! God, there are so many people. It took me forever to get there and get back. I recognized some people. I had to take the long way to hide from them. You know that girl with the round glasses, kinda short, has a really oversized beach-themed phone case who plays-"

"Piano, yeah, and not well," Otabek says, finishing his water and leaning forward. They've joked about her phone case before. She dropped it once before a quiz in theory and everyone had to wait while the mess was cleaned up.

"She's here! She looks really creepy!" JJ says. "Creepier than usual!"

"She's here every week," Otabek says.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," JJ says half-sourly.

"I didn't think you cared about her."

"Not that. That you DJ! How do you pronounce GLDN?" JJ says it like it is, no vowels.

"Golden." Otabek rolls his eyes.

"Oh, of course," JJ says. "You know I think I saw that on posters around school."

Otabek nods.

JJ makes the _mind = blown_ gesture with one hand.

"Do you actually enjoy this type of music?" Otabek asks, rising.

Scrunching up half his face, JJ replies, "Sort of? It's kind of generic."

"I know. Leo's done now. Come on, I made this set for you. It's better." Otabek gets close to JJ, looking up at him, hand on his chest for a moment, stays just long enough to see JJ's expression rearrange to surprise and then he heads back out.

The crowd makes noise as Otabek returns to stage. The lights change theme. The arcs at the head of the stage start scrolling blue. The hood above the bar just says GLDN now.

JJ makes to go off stage but Otabek pulls him back by his jacket. He's very satisfied with himself, for JJ is looking properly flustered.

"Stay here," Otabek commands.

"What?" JJ says, looking around at all the stuff. "I'll break your machines if you let me stay up here."

"Jean," Otabek says. JJ makes eye contact with him. Otabek holds up one hand in a J symbol. "This is the signal." JJ squares up, bobs his head. _Of course the J would put him under my control, like some kind of spell._ Otabek hits some switches, then points at a square button on the sampler column of the Kontrol. "Hit that on beat when I give the signal. Stop when I give the signal. Simple."

"Uh-" JJ starts protesting. But Otabek's sliding his headphones around his neck again and cues the music. It's a remix of Final Song by MO he's been working on. He's got a few remixes, new and old, start it off.

As soon as the opening synths start, a previously dark screen behind Otabek lights up and starts whirling and pulsing in blue and red circular patterns. Live Wire knows there's got to be something exciting for the crowd to fixate on, because GLDN doesn't provide that. Otabek prefers to produce the track then break it down so he's actually got something to do on stage besides press play and jump around like an idiot.

He gives JJ the signal at the drop and his roommate comes through on the task.

"That was pretty easy," Otabek can more read JJ's lips than hear what he says after they finish, JJ not missing a beat. Otabek beckons him over and puts him at the keyboard. "Oh no no no no," JJ protests as soon as Otabek starts telling him some chords.

"I've been teaching you about chords ever since we started. Make a good pattern or riff. C, Em, D, G. Listen for it and come in when you want."

End tutorial. Onto the next song. Alessia Cara.

JJ proves to Otabek he's man for the task. Otabek picks up some hesitant synths as he swings his headphones up on his ears, then on the second verse out pops a simple high riff, cuts for the drop and something new falls into mid-range for the second chorus. Otabek likes it.

Symphony by Clean Bandit, MAX, a few more, then there's enough fooling around with the remixes. JJ looks like he's enjoying himself after the tenth track. Lights flash from in front and behind. Club's still full; it's near 11 p.m. Otabek puts him back on simple bass kick duty and he gives Otabek those ridiculous puppy eyes.

"Thought you didn't want to," Otabek shakes his head.

"I didn't know how good I was at it!" JJ complains. "An hour and I'm practically ready to produce my own EP now! Come on!"

Otabek shakes his head again. "This is an original. Hit as many buttons as you want. I'm muting the Kontrol."

It's not his finest, but Otabek thinks the track has its moments and is enough of a people-pleaser, on-trend sound, while still containing little allusions. Here and there. He looks at JJ. At first his roommate's just nodding along and slapping buttons mischievously but then when the little six-note melody comes in he notices JJ's eyes widen, then a grin.

Otabek is indeed satisfied. JJ knows his Debussy, at least, and it's from _Jardins,_ that bit.

He hangs out on the track for awhile then the next has nine notes from _Pagodes,_ JJ notices that too. (Otabek tried to do _Soiree_ but there wasn't much to work with, in his opinion.)

Finishing that out and letting the simple base sequence hold the energy up for a while, Otabek goes to stand beside JJ and hands him a mic.

"You're stupid! I know how long making these songs take! Not exactly, but I bet they take a long time! We got finals, man!" JJ's ranting, but smiling.

"I told you there was good music here," Otabek returns. He nods down at the mic he's passed JJ. "My shift's almost over. The last song's the first one."

JJ looks down, looking like he didn't realize what he was holding and what it meant. "W- ait. Uh, you got the words somewhere?"

Otabek pulls out his phone, brings up the page, and hands it to JJ. He's blushing in spite of himself. A smile creeps up on JJ's face as he scrolls.

"' _I made this set for you'_ , huh?" JJ says. They're so close, they have to be to hear each other.

Otabek wants to say, _no, for_ us, but his throat's stopped, cause of being toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest with Jean-Jacques Leroy.

"Fine," voice-teacher-JJ says in an exaggerated tone, flourishing the mic. "I shall shred my vocal chords with the most terrible of glaudal stops. Just for you."

Otabek grins; he starts the track. The one with space for vocals. Pitch adjusted for JJ. Normally he wouldn't dream of getting a classical vocalist to adapt to this kind of track but he just flat-out trusts JJ with this.

The smooth, clear tone of JJ's voice is everything Otabek's imagined. And, mmm, there are the little slides on _go-o-o-o-o-oes,_ peppered with a stop here and there, in just the right places, different from the original, better. But Otabek might just be biased. He closes his eyes and lets the lights colour them in flashing explosions of bright hued dots, nudges up the mic input in the in-ear audio.

_But when you're gone the music goes_

_I lose my rhythm, lose my soul_

_So hear me out before you say the night is over_

_I want you to know that we gotta, gotta carry on_

_So don't let this be our final song_

By some cruel and unavoidable consequence of the passage of time, the song ends and JJ's voice ends and JJ's reaching over Otabek, to his laptop, looking through the song names, choosing one before Otabek can stop him.

"My shift's over-" Otabek starts. JJ holds a finger to his lips. _JJ holds a finger to Otabek's lips_ and therefore, Otabek falls quiet.

"You've just asked me something, golden boy, and I gotta answer," JJ grins. He hits the flashing button that is, much too obviously, _play_.

This is a bare-bones version. This is nothing ready to be played. Otabek feels panic in a moment before JJ pushes the keyboard in front of him and takes up the mic himself.

_I don't need a rich boy_

_I don't want your money_

_No, you don't gotta spend nothing on me_

_All I want is sweet sweet love, sweet sweet love_

\- JJ's singing and tapping in time on the Kontrol and Otabek fumbles for the chords and selects the synths he's had in the back of his mind and somehow comes up with something and somehow, _somehow_ there's just enough between the two of them and the underwhelming track to fill the club, to fill Otabek's senses with just what's happening right now. The lights don't matter, his worries don't matter, his indecision is evaporating, gone. He's had his answer. Now he can say it. Well, he's said it.

And JJ's responded with _yes,_ so this seems.

When they stumble back off stage and zip up the equipment and wrap it up and Anya delivers a flat, "You're welcome to stay," knowing it won't be accepted, and heads off, they're alone in the back room. The rush of the music and words and his name in lights and his name on JJ's lips is still pumping strong through Otabek.

"Yeah?" is all JJ has to say, open posture, leather jacket hanging on his tall frame, white shirt and blue jeans simple, everything Otabek wants.

"Yeah," Otabek says.

Then JJ's on him and they're pushing up against the wall, Otabek's ready and willing to go over edge (because he's been standing there trying to fall for the whole night and maybe longer), and they better hope no one else comes back to check on them.

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The drive back is a haze. Otabek's sure he would've driven better if he'd been intoxicated with alcohol instead.

"I wanna kiss you more," JJ mumbles as they make the drive back.

Otabek just hums deep in his throat.

He's sort of got the answer to his question. The one he asked himself in the mirror that morning, a while ago. Kind of. It's not really words. Just a picture, something he wants to have at his disposal to relive for forever. JJ on his knees, looking up at him (that alone is almost enough, fuck), eyes a better blue than any of Live Wire's stupid lights could be, lips around his cock.

God.

Somehow they make it back to the dorm. JJ gets giggly. He insists on wrapping his enormous scarf around the both of them so they stumble awkwardly together. He insists on carrying Otabek in his arms, like he had carried the Maschine, over the doorstep. Otabek refuses. So it ends up JJ just wraps him around the waist and hoists him up and waddles in like that, putting him down promptly as his load struggles.

They crash in JJ's bed. Otabek's exhausted.

Phantom strains of Debussy and MO and Galantis run like threads in Otabek's mind, tying him down to this new reality, sing him to sleep.

And when Otabek wakes up and JJ's next to him, he knows it hasn't all been a dream.

 

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[music](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFtCDaG4LZelrY61NYx1NgHdgB1YAeBvN)

[art? idk it sucks but](https://sciencemakedrugtho.tumblr.com/post/161262796101)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so I technically have more planned to finish the semester but idk this sounds like a nice place to leave it too, what do you guys think?  
> Also for everyone who's been around for awhile, there's where the old title came from ^^


	12. Chapter 12

The winter concert is usually sold out. The performances are high-caliber, but prices are reasonable since the performers are only students. Students in other years are whining about how there's no special guest this time around, but they're sure to get one for the year-end concert after second semester anyway. It's scheduled the Friday and Saturday evening after the Monday when classes end, December 11th. Finals last until the following Wednesday, letting students off in time to get home for Christmas.

"We don't celebrate Christmas," Otabek tells JJ. They're lounging in the living room together. JJ's lying down so that his long legs are sticking off one arm rest of the couch and his head's in Otabek's lap. They're taking turns quizzing each other on their respective repertoire/history notes.

"What?!" JJ sits up. "That's terrible! That's why you should stay here."

Otabek huffs with a half-smile. "You don't miss it if you've never had it."

JJ grabs his hands and shakes them. "You don't understand! We need to go ice skating on the outdoor rink, then go to Tim's to warm up, then go to the Christmas festival, and do some snowboarding, and listen to carolers and go out in the bush to cut down our own tree and decorate it and give-"

"I'm coming back January 3," Otabek says.

"Too late," JJ says sadly.

Today it's Sunday the 10th and tonight Otabek has a Skype call with his parents. He kept it bottled up, all the nerves, but only for so long until JJ reminded him not to do that and he marvels at how much better being anxious feels when it's out in the open, with someone you trust, not a poison kept in your gut.

A lot's happened in a week.

Otabek thought he was riding some strange high at first, when they woke up Sunday morning (well, JJ turning over woke Otabek up), and there was the dim winter light through the window, but JJ's warm body next to him, sheets a haphazard cover, both of them still fully dressed from the night before. Then JJ had leaned on his elbow and kissed Otabek, came away sleepily, closed his eyes again.

Otabek had lain there, staring at the white stippled ceiling, marveling at everything.

Not a lot has changed, yet everything has.

They still sit where they've always sat. But now they walk together. And all the things Otabek's told himself, all the one-sided excuses that go like, _JJ's got such a big friend group, he's always talking to somebody,_ well, JJ's made it clear that Otabek is priority. Oh, they didn't broadcast it. But after theory when all JJ's friends are chatting and _yo J, coming to the Hollow now?_ he'll say, _sure! . . . Beka?_ just as Otabek draws up beside him, nods. And, well, Otabek doesn't mind being around everyone else, as long as JJ's there. But it's not all the time. Sometimes JJ says, _nah, I'm grabbing something with Beka,_ and they head off the other way, and JJ doesn't look back. There were some raised eyebrows and guffaws the first time ( _He's gay now? Fuck, man!_ ) and Otabek had the priviledge of seeing a challenging spark light in JJ's eye and everyone kind of just shut up.

Yuuri caught Otabek after repertoire Monday.

"Are you dating your roommate?!" he asked. Otabek nodded. Yuuri looked confused. "I thought you didn't get along!"

"We do now," Otabek said.

"JJ is the last person I would think is gay," Yuuri had said.

"With Victor in first," Otabek had followed up smoothly.

"Then you," Yuuri countered.

" _What?_ "

"Or at least bi."

Yuuri looked proud of himself, holding his books, standing with his excellent posture as always.

"I'm disappointed you and Victor didn't beat us to it," Otabek said off-handedly, the use of _us_ giving him an uncertain fluttering, then a thrill when Yuuri showed he'd understood it.

"Oh, well, I think, uh, well Victor's sitting next to me all the time, and he's always - I don't know, somehow he's always where I'm going," Yuuri said.

"Are you trying to play hard-to-get?" Otabek raised an eyebrow.

"Noooooooooo," Yuuri complained.

"Do you not like him?" But it was sort of a rhetorical question, because Otabek knew he did.

"No! I do not _not_ like him! I mean to say, yes!"

"Then why not just. . . ?" Otabek made a gesture.

Yuuri looked down and around. They'd been standing around the corner from the repertoire theatre and the traffic had died down. Some students sat in cubicles at the far end, studying or watching Netflix, or, more likely, trying to do both at the same time.

"Because . . . I'm not worth it. How could I be what he wants? I'll disappoint."

"Give Victor the chance to prove you wrong," Otabek challenged. He tried to read the thoughts behind the blue-framed glasses. "I think maybe he's already begun to," he guessed.

That was enough talking for now.

"I'm going to practice," Otabek said as a farewell.

"See you later," Yuuri said, contemplatively.

But Otabek has found himself talking more. Not excessively, just some urge to be honest with JJ. During their practice Tuesday, they went through Stammi completely and Otabek sat there in the afterglow. JJ had tried to get his attention. _Otabek. Beka. Golden boy. You listening?_

Otabek had just said, _Your voice is beautiful,_ and that had been a triumph because JJ had grinned his usual, overly-positive king-of-the-world smile but this time, it was accompanied by a full red blush. When JJ blushes, it's not the light reddening of the cheeks that Otabek's is. It's quite sudden, instead, unafraid of conservative boundaries on the cheek, it strays to his forehead. (It also strays to his chest, Otabek knows now, as well.) _Your voice is too,_ JJ had replied. _Sorry I can't play the music for Still,_ as he reached for his laptop to select the recording of Otabek's own playing. Otabek had snorted. _Oh, I wouldn't have it any other way,_ he'd joked, and then, _you have better things to be doing._

JJ's actually nailing his pieces, as far as Otabek can hear. His fingers are starting to gain a knowledge of their own. And Otabek's nailing his own pieces, judging from the tense nods of the head he receives from Lilia with only the bidding to _repeat!_ and to not fix or change anything. (He's grateful he only has to enter the Allegro moderato from the sonata. A full half hour piece would have killed him otherwise.)

Good, because he wants extra time for his side piece.

They sleep together now. On Sunday night, JJ proposed they scientifically test out both beds in turn and it was decided JJ's provided the better sleep. Therefore, Otabek's room is now storage/lounging/closet.

"How do you feel about sex? Like, actual sex," JJ had half-yelled, blunt and natural as ever, lying crosswise on the bed on his phone as Otabek brushed his teeth in the bathroom across the hallway.

Otabek had spit into the sink (and not because he'd meant to). Still, his mouth was too frothy to talk. JJ had half-sat up on the bed, looking expectantly with raised eyebrows. All Otabek could manage in the way of communication was a thumbs up. After nodding seriously in reply, JJ had flopped back down and started laughing and then Otabek had, too.

"So that was a yes?" JJ clarified when Otabek entered, wearing just sleep pants. He'd given up on sleep shirts because he always seemed to struggle them off during the night. What was the point? And, in addition, now he had JJ's eyes on his chest, lazily wandering down. This kind of attention makes him feel like Mila had in the beginning. But it's so much better now, because he knows it's not her anymore.

"Sure, sex is good," Otabek had said. Feigned surprise. "Oh, you mean with _you?"_ And Otabek started laughing again, breaking facade, JJ crossed his arms disdainfully.

"Of course, no one could be great enough for oh-so-hot, oh-so-rich hipster boy," JJ said.

To prove he was joking, Otabek had thrown himself on top of JJ. They were on the bed, close and warm, close enough that Otabek had to switch his gaze from one of JJ's eyes to the other, too near to look him straight in both.

"I don't think I even realize how much I want you," Otabek had said, soft and intent. This had succeeded in spreading a grin across JJ's face. But it wasn't an obnoxious one. It was something different all together. "Before we, ah . . . . just," Otabek had forced the lump in his throat out, "I haven't. Ever. Only with girls."

"You liked that, though?"

"Not as much as I'm supposed to, I don't think," Otabek had said, eyes half-closing. Sex with Mila had quickly just become some other tool, some other leash she had on him. Enjoyable for seconds. Loathed otherwise.

"Oh, you'll like this much better," JJ had asserted. "Though I'm not so experienced. Myself. Hey, we'll have fun. We'll start slow."

They did. JJ only used his fingers the first time. Sure, Otabek would be lying if he said it wasn't uncomfortable and painful at first (JJ: _just say if you need to stop; you're ok?; doing alright Beka?; am I going too fast?;_ it's everything Otabek's never had with Mila). So Otabek strives to get past the unfamiliar, and it rewards him in the end. Somehow after the (exotic) high drops down to a satisfied buzz in his gut, getting a word out between kisses, lying on the bed, skin to skin, he'd insisted on returning JJ the favor from the night at Live Wire, if JJ would at least guide him a little. (JJ didn't need much convincing.) Now it was Otabek's turn to put himself between JJ's legs, on the bed, JJ propping his prone form up on his forearms, starting out with some pointers here and there which quickly became interrupted by hitches in breath and little moans as his fingers curled in the sheets and Otabek took him in his mouth. As for Otabek, this is where he'd learned about the chest blush and fallen in love even _more_ if that was possible, which, after the fact, it certainly was. And even though he choked a little when JJ came (OK, he choked a _lot,_ but JJ said _that was amazing for your first time_ so it didn't matter), even though JJ had swallowed _him_ so smoothly and sweetly that night at the club, it was the best experience of the sort he'd ever had.

Seeing JJ undone like this, hearing _him_ gasp _Otabek's_ name (though Otabek's sure he can do much, much more, some day) is overcoming for him.

He laughs to think of having this sort of connection with Mila. Even at the start, it was nothing like this. His desire for her was weak, their pleasure was small, now, in comparison, in hindsight.

More differences: coming twice in a night has never been even a distant thought. Monday night, though, although they just study and crash because despite everything, it _is_ finals time, as he's drifting off, he pegs it as a possibility.

Thursday night makes it reality, when he asks for it, and JJ says, _you're sure you're ready? (_ he's so concerned, considerate, Otabek loves him). Oh, he's more than ready, he wants _Jean-Jacques Leroy_ inside of him.

He comes three times, that night, _Jean - Jean, fuck!,_ on his lips.

His ass is _so_ sore the next day. JJ smirks when Otabek cuts his practice short in the studio room (on the hard black bench) and stands, telling JJ it's time for him to practice _Still._ JJ slides in at the bench, pulling up the .mp3 file, grinning. _Well, I'll just sit here then, amazing, it's so comfortable. Too bad you can't sing sitting down, eh, Golden boy?_

And now, by the next Sunday afternoon, Otabek's started to know what he likes. _I knew you wouldn't just lie there and take it,_ JJ had said, _I knew you weren't that kind of bottom._ And Otabek had said, _who says I'm a bottom?_ and leaned in close and JJ grabbed around him (grabbed his ass, at a convenient height), and said, _no one,_ so there's still that adventure to go on.

Oh, there are so many.

A lot has changed in a week.

But maybe more in the next few minutes.

The usual greetings with his parents. They speak Russian, naturally. He asks after Alina first. She's out at a soccer game. Busy girl. He's sent her some of the select latest Trump memes. She hasn't read them yet.

Otabek's sitting at the kitchen table where the lighting is better. JJ's on the couch, leaning over the back, not in the webcam frame, just a silent support at Otabek's request. This is only the fifth video call he's had with his family all semester, what with their busy schedules and all. Even now, they've got a fairly precise half hour before they'll have to go.

Some chat about courses and finals. He assures them he's doing well. _We knew you would be,_ his father says. _Keep studying for finals, don't get distracted,_ admonishes his mother. _There are probably many students still just partying and causing trouble?_ Otabek replies, _oh yes, of course,_ and they give him a nice lead-in, his mother:

"I hope your roommate's not one of that kind."

"No." Otabek has steeled himself for this moment, but he finds in the moment it isn't necessary. It's just as much a fact as anything else he'll tell his parents. "Actually, JJ and I are together now."

Well, the moment of surety passes, dips out at an alarming rate. His parents' expressions look like they think they've misheard him.

"Your roommate?" repeats his mother. "The boy?"

Otabek nods. "After spending most of the semester getting to know him, we're trying a relationship." He's not feeling so good about this now. He wants to say, irately, _he's not a boy, he's older than I am._ But he wouldn't, he can't.

His parents are silent. His mother's mouth is half-open like she wants to say something, but can't choose what.

"I know this is unexpected," Otabek says, "I didn't expect it either."

"Beka, we barely know-" his father starts; his mother cuts him off:

"Beka, you're being foolish." She looks worried. She clicks her tongue. Crosses her arms. Glances at his father. "We should have never sent him overseas. We should have put him in business here. Instead of let him go to music in North America."

"Music is his passion," Otabek's father says, but he's frowning. His mother turns back to Otabek.

"This is foolish, Beka. You must come home for your winter break. I was afraid this would happen. This new culture is influencing you. You're dating a - a boy?"

Otabek flinches. "Yes. We're not doing anything risky. Or stupid." He's feeling very tired all of a sudden and that terribly familiar tension of worry and frustration is curling in his gut.

His mother's face is tight with concern and admonishment. "Beka, we need to talk about this."

His father turns to her. "Maybe not right now-"

"No, now! We have to! Do you see?"

Otabek is quite familiar with this pattern of communication between his parents. Regardless of how they show it, they're both disappointed. The set of his father's mouth gives it away despite his soft words.

"You're not spending any money on the boy, are you?" his mother demands.

"No," Otabek says.

The rest of the call Otabek spends knowing he'll want to forget it all after. He goes from stoic to almost pleading. They try and talk about other things. But the storm doesn't lift. The issue drags into other veins of conversation.

The goodbyes aren't with smiles and waves. They're with tired and tense parting remarks, empty _love you,_ a fettering _we miss you,_ a promise to call him again, later, sooner than usual.

Otabek shuts his laptop in silence.

His mind takes him back to the day after the club crawl. When they found out he and Mila were out and off and it was most easily perceived as his fault. He never wanted to, he swore he'd never, make his parents that disappointed in him again, he'd never do anything to put the same expression back on their faces.

But he just has.

Suddenly he's crying, forcefully and joltingly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," is a murmur at his ear as someone, his love-out-of-the-blue who's turning his world upside down, wraps his arms around him and rocks him in his seat as bitter tears crowd the ledges of his eyes and track down his cheeks.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm not sad!" Otabek exclaims. "I'm _angry!_ "

It's the second night of stewing-in-it (Otabek's trademark way of dealing with things, he is now aware) and JJ has just said (they're in the practice room again) _man, I'm getting stressed, and I can tell you're super stressed, so you better stop being sad or else you're going to vocal fry your way through_ Still _at the concert._ (It's Monday, last day, and they went to all their (mostly empty) classes; a lot of people are off getting drunk, so everyone who was there sat together; everyone's always friends on the last day).

"Explaaaaaaaaain," voice-teacher-JJ says, lacing his fingers and resting his chin on them.

Otabek gestures emphatically. "They send me here, all expenses paid. They . . . they've always said, after Mila, something like, they'll find someone even better. Now? I have, and -" All Otabek can do is pull at his hair.

"That's so touching," JJ says, hand on his heart.

"What?"

"That you've found someone better." He clasps his hands by his head and looks dramatically off, up into the middle distance.

"Of course, 90% of people would be better than Mila," Otabek says, no nonsense.

JJ makes a horrified face, and noise.

". . . But you made me realize that, fully, finally," Otabek mutters. True, because the shame and guilt-trips programmed into him are starting to come undone, because he's got a growing collection of counter-examples. Sure enough, this stops JJ's theatrics. Otabek grimaces. Because the anger and frustration are just the manifestations of the pain in his heart, that he might have torn himself away from his family, and he _knows_ it's not "his fault" (per se) but it's unavoidable both ways. "They're going to call again Thursday," Otabek says grimly.

"So, uh, whatcha gonna tell them?" JJ says. "I might not understand them, my parents have always been chill, but . . . whatever you think is best for you, that's what I'll go with too."

Otabek shakes his head. He doesn't know what's best for him. His parents say they do. He's always followed the things they've given him. Thinking about this makes him so tired. At least he's managed to shelve the blame, because it can't be pinned on anyone, but now he's staring the whole of his future in the eyes and he wants to look away.

He sits back down at the piano, rolls his shoulders back, and starts up the Polonaise on its 6th page again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Everyone goes to the Hollow for dinner. It's packed. They end up comparing finals schedules. Otabek doesn't drink, but JJ's got something alcoholic in his hand and his phone in his other. They sit next to each other at the bar, and Yuuri and Victor beside them (finally, it looks like they're together, Yuuri sliding out of his usually sheepish composure around Victor here and there, Victor's arms draped across his shoulders), Sara, Chris, whole bunch of other students Otabek only knows by name hanging out as well. They take up a couple tables close to the counter in addition to this swath at the bar.

"Uh, mine are, Wednesday, Friday, Monday, Wednesday," JJ says as he scrolls. Otabek puts his phone next to his.

"Wednesday same, that's theory. I have repertoire Thursday, KNES on Monday, choral's Monday as well, and my main piano exam's Tuesday," Otabek lists off, looking at his own schedule.

"One day to study," JJ says, takes a breath, a drink from his glass. "But that's not today."

The bacon-maple poutine is slid in front of them. From the other side of JJ, Sara reaches around and nabs a few fries.

"This is why we had to order the large," Otabek says as some disappear from his side, thanks to Yuuri.

JJ raises his eyebrows and promptly starts shovelling food in. Otabek joins him, giving Sara a challenging glare over JJ's shoulder. She makes a face at him and goes back to talking to Chris at her other elbow. After a desperate twenty seconds where JJ has to form a protective wall with his arm, fending off Yuuri, egged on by Victor, Otabek finds his mouth is filling up faster than he can chew and swallow and JJ's laughing and Otabek laughing, has to cover his mouth.

The time goes on as they talk with other students and friends about what they're doing for Christmas break. Eventually Otabek notices something missing in the loud, chatty atmosphere; whoever's been playing requests and singing at the bar piano across the room has stopped. Watch says 7:29. He takes JJ's hand and pulls him away from where he's deeply invested in a discussion with Chris of the Oilers' lineup and how well McDavid's doing in their current series against the Blackhawks. A lot of names and jargon Otabek's not familiar with; JJ lets him lead him through the crowded tables, towards the piano and mic, yet finishing whatever point he's making about hockey, then running to catch level with Otabek.

"Hey, what are we doing?" JJ says.

"I booked us in tonight," Otabek says as they near the baby grand which is ensconced partly in a curved booth.

"They only ever have mediocre music here though."

"Well, let's change that."

JJ looks back and Yuuri's tugging Victor along through the crowd, heading their way.

"Who's us?" JJ asks.

"Whoever wanted," Otabek says. "Whoever wants."

JJ draws ahead of Otabek. "I do," he says, sitting down promptly at the keys. People hanging around who looked like they were going to leave now pause and hover, still chatting in groups, but attentive to the new music makers.

Pushing him off, Otabek smirks. "Oh no, you're not playing."

JJ stands up and pulls his phone out of his pocket, leans on the lid. It's a high-quality electric piano, cleverly disguised as acoustic.

"K, what are we singing?"

By now Victor and Yuuri have arrived and everyone else is trailing behind. This won't be an easy crowd to impress, but most vocalists will know _classical_ voice vs. _pop singing_ is very different, and certainly not everyone can pull it off, and the easy conversion of just sticking in glaudal stops, staying stubbornly in chest voice, and sirening every 3rd word is a terrible idea so close to the concert and exams.

Otabek hits and pedals through a few opening chords. He's got Final Song chorded now with some 9ths and major 7ths in it. JJ recognizes it and places his phone face-down on the lid and casts Otabek a lazy smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen, presenting your first guests of the night, the King and the Golden boy."

Otabek says _pfft_ and leans into the dominant. JJ gets the hint and starts singing. How does he produce the notes so _effortlessly_?; he holds the mic cocked at an angle away from his lips.

_Please, won't you wait, won't you stay?_

_At least until the sun goes down_

_When you're gone, I lose faith_

_I lose everything I have found_

_High strings, violins_

_That's what I hear when you're by my side_

And JJ's singing it to him, not looking at his phone for the words, (he must have been thinking about them, they must mean something to him, since he knows them by heart - Otabek's started keeping track of things in the Very Accurate Relationship Meter (VARM, to keep the other acronym company), and this fills it up a little more). Otabek doesn't care who's looking at them. It sounds terribly cliche, but the rest of the world fades far away because it's just him and JJ. The rubato communicates between them. JJ inserts original runs here and there. Otabek complements them, even introduces them.

They were made to do this together.

Otabek finishes on the tonic major seventh, up an octave. He stands up for Yuuri to take his turn. He and JJ move around to the end of the piano where JJ picks up his drink again. JJ's voice is just one of those that slips easily from classical to pop. Otabek admires him with half an eye.

Victor and Yuuri (after some awkwardly cute preamble) do _Don't Stop the Music,_ a la Jamie Cullum, but lower and smoother, keeping the rhythm, fewer jazzy runs in the piano, just the song without keyed intermission.

"Hey, it's a nice arrangement," JJ says to Otabek. "He can go higher than I thought." Victor does stray up into higher range, his classical roots becoming evident. Now's not the time for belting. Victor doesn't use the mic, doesn't need it.

But despite all this, Otabek mentally fits JJ's voice to the melody, the slide down on _mus-iiiiiiic,_ now that would be heavenly. The list of things he wants to hear JJ sing grows longer every day.

There's a round of applause from those standing around after they're done.

Others go up and play and sing. Otabek, looking around, is pretty sure he's the only one who hasn't a drink. And he's pretty sure Yuuri's had several. He becomes preoccupied with counting Yuuri's empty glasses. When the Japanese student returns to the bench, he's a little unsteady and red in the face but accompanies Victor to _My Way_ pretty much flawlessly ("To finals, girls and boys!" - Victor). Shots and tall glasses together, eleven. Otabek just shakes his head, mystified at the pianist's ability to hold his liquor as Yuuri, shirt half-undone, finishes and swaps out for Sara (pianist) and a girl who must be from another faculty but can sing nonetheless.

Yuuri is grabbing Victor by his tie (always well-dressed, the man is) and saying (drunken) things in his ear that make Victor go red in the face. Yuuri comes away laughing. Otabek is very amused. So is everyone else watching. The alcohol brings out some hidden confidence in Yuuri, who turns back around to clasp his arms around Victor's neck and push himself in very _very_ close to the man.

Beside him, JJ is quiet, staring into his glass, a minimal ring of liquid at the bottom.

"Hm?" Otabek says turning to him. JJ hiccups and gives his glass a tilt. He's had a few shots, but Otabek's not buying him any more.

"Nothin," JJ says. "Maybe we should head back."

Somehow, it's 9:20 or so.

"Sure," Otabek yawns. JJ finishes his drink. They leave together.

A chinook's blown in. It's only minus 10 or so. The vocalists are still safely bundled up. Outside is starkly quiet and dark. They can hear their feet crunch softly on the inch or so of fallen snow as they walk through the overlapping halos of light, on the way to their dorms.

"Will you sing Don't Stop the Music for me," Otabek says.

"Sure, Golden boy, sure," JJ says. He's maybe a little tipsy. Nothing too impairing. "We don't have a piano though . . . "

"Not now," Otabek says. "Later."

"Oh, sure. After I tour. After I get rich. Wait, after I finish school . . . then, then . . . I can buy a piano . . . I want one that lights on fire . . . the fire will spell whatever words I want . . . "

When they get back in and brush teeth and all that and turn up the heat, climb in bed, JJ sleepily mumble-sings a few lines as he rests chest-to-back with Otabek, bodies cradled together: _Can't refuse it . . . like the way . . . hmmm, stop the music . . . ._

The VARM ticks a little more full. It's not a completely objective measure, as it doesn't seem to have a definite full marking, but it's somewhere above absolute zero. Somewhere above _we've-had-sex,_ above _we've-seen-each-others-closest-held-weaknesses,_ but somewhere below _we're-used-to-having-sex,_ below _we've-overcome-our-weaknesses-together._ That's fine. Otabek's content with that.

It's kind of magic, but Otabek has a much-needed restful sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so I decided I can't leave it at the previous chapter, y'all I stayed up to midnight writing 10534 words to finish this up woop woop.  
> Also ok if I up the rating to E for the last chapter? I accidentally wrote something  
> ummm yeah enjoy??? (cries because I gave myself so many feels and i'm ded, thanks @me)  
> also if anyone picks up on which uni this is based on I will give u a prize


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING there's sex at the end of the chapter. ok keep going

Tuesday is just straight, intense studying and practicing. Boring, but necessary. For Otabek, it's maintenance. For JJ - well, JJ's asking Otabek more questions than he optimally should be at this point. He starts asking him the same things twice. He starts asking things he knows the answer to and then interrupts halfway through Otabek's (concerned) explanation: _oh, right right right, yeah I remember._ When Otabek looks over at JJ and his books all over the little kitchen table (they need space, so Otabek's claimed the couch and half the floor, JJ's at the kitchen), his roommate (boyfriend; really? really, that's what it is? of course it is, it's just a strange label to put on them) is flipping through his history and theory texts and notes, eyes scanning the page too briefly to be reading or absorbing anything.

"Take a break," Otabek tells him. All he gets is a forceful exhale.

"So much shit I don't know," JJ groans and stands up, starts pacing in little circles, hands on his head.

"You know enough for a 3.7," Otabek says, and he's sure of this, from the practice exams they've done. "Yuuri sent me a dropbox link from Seung, it's the missing 2016 practice final. Want to do it?"

"Nyuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh," JJ says, still pacing. "I should have kept taking the meds, I should have kept taking the meds," he says, words stuck all together.

Otabek goes over to him, pulls his arms down by his sides, and sharply stares up at him. "You didn't, but I'm here. You might be anxious, but you can do this exam. You need to."

Otabek clears off the table and puts his laptop there, spreads open empty sheets for him and JJ, who sits down, leg bouncing spontaneously in spurts, dark brow serious and tense.

In the middle of it (an hour later; Otabek's a half page ahead of JJ and he's checked all his work so far) JJ looks up.

"Sorry but - did you go to O-Week?"

"Orientation?"

"Yeah."

"No, I figured I could make my way around fine."

"Oh. Well, they had this really good neuropsychologist or something. She said stress was your body getting ready to do your best."

JJ's pencil hovers above the paper, then goes back to determinedly scratching down chord numerals below a chorale.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

JJ says he just wants to sleep. Otabek can read the anxiety in the creases below and at the corner of his eyes, in the hunch of his shoulders. But as they're lying there, facing each other, looking at each other in silence, there's no sleep on the table, just a quiet remaining. Otabek's fingers and palm slide down JJ's jawline. In the dark there's just the knowledge of his blue eyes.

The moment breaks when the unmistakable Skype call sound blurps from Otabek's night table.

He turns over, suddenly wondering how his parents managed to coordinate their schedules to call him early, they must be really concerned - but no, it's Alina.

"It's my sister, I'm taking this," he tells JJ, who just nods and closes his eyes.

A smile finds its way from Otabek's soul to his face as the slightly jerky image of his sister in her room comes into view. Posters hang on the wall behind her, a self-made series of math puns for a school project. She's beautiful, Alina is, with thick dark hair like her mother and freckles and straight brows similar to Otabek's.

They trade a few comments about life before Alina says (Russian, with slang mixed in),

"Mom and Dad are pretty upset. Or worried." She's looking down, drawing something. Otabek knows this is how she pays attention. Somehow doodling helps her focus. Otabek's no artist, in that sense; it would take all his concentration to try and produce . . . well, pretty much anything halfways worth looking at.

"Yeah," Otabek says.

"Are you still coming back for the break?"

"Should I?" Otabek says.

Alina looks up, pushing the tip of her pencil against her chin. "I think so," she says. "Like, is it that serious to you?"

"No," Otabek says in a bit of a huff, "It's just serious to them."

Alina sighs. "You could just try to smooth things over."

"I _want_ to come home. But to the home I know," Otabek says. " . . . Bringing JJ along is out of the question . . . I'd wanted to do that."

"No kidding." Alina goes back to drawing. "Mom's definitely set on changing your mind. I think Dad's looking for alternatives for you already. If you do come back, there will be a lot of purposeful social events."

"Alternatives?" Otabek scoffs and rubs his forehead. "You haven't told me your opinion yet," he says.

"Well, I don't know the guy," Alina gestures with her pencil.

"Fair enough," Otabek says.

"But you're an adult."

"I am."

"But Mom and Dad are paying for your stuff."

"They are." That fact, in this context, gives Otabek a headache.

"Where is he?"

"Who, JJ?"

"Yeah. I only met him once, at the beginning of the semester. Well, saw him for a few seconds."

"He's . . . " Otabek turns around. "He's sleeping. First final tomorrow."

"Oh, I see."

Otabek sees a little smile flick across Alina's face, but she chooses not to comment, apparently.

"Beka, if he does anything that Mila did, I don't approve," Alina declares.

"Not so far," Otabek says. A smile comes to him. "The opposite, in fact."

"The very opposite, and that's what Mom and Dad don't li-iiiiike," Alina says.

"Honestly . . . I don't want to be . . . gay, or bisexual," Otabek says quietly, putting his head in his hands.

"Too bad, I guess." Alina goes back to drawing. "You'd better sleep. I hope you come back, okay? And Alen misses you, I think. Alexey's supposed to be off on break too at that time."

"Oh, he's at the Music Academy?"

Alina nods. "Doing piano too, I think."

"Oh guess what, I'm singing a solo in the final concert this weekend," Otabek tells her.

They don't chat for too much longer.

Lying in bed, going to sleep, finally, Alina's tone lingers in Otabek's thoughts. _I hope you come back, okay?_

He misses his family.

Too late, he realizes he forgot to ask Alina if she's dating anyone yet. He smirks to himself. She's always said she'll never get married. When Otabek was at home, Mom and Dad were starting to drop hints about - well, not necessarily matches for her, but the sort of people she should be hanging out with. Ah, Alina. They're both headstrong, but Otabek keeps it inside, and Alina uses it to her advantage. She's never obeyed the rules at heart, but she's good at skimming them to appease whoever's important to appease.

Maybe, for this reason, he should take her advice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Their theory exam is 3:30 - 6:30.

JJ's been nervous all morning. Otabek went to work out. He read his notes. He's feeling fine. He asked JJ if he wanted to go to Glenda Campbell hall to play the public piano there a bit before the exam, but JJ refused.

Now they're reunited, heading towards the Arts block, where there's a bunch of theatres to split up the different theory sections for exam writing.

The foot traffic grows thicker as they get closer.

"How nervous are you," Otabek says to JJ, who's got his hands stuffed in his pockets; hanging out of one, a pencil case filled with way more instruments than are necessary.

"Pretty," JJ says through locked jaw.

"One to ten."

"Seven. Point two-five. Point two-five-nine."

"Are you going to freak out?"

"Sounds like a possibility."

"You should have tried to get an accomodation."

JJ shakes his head as they push through the final set of doors that lead to the theatre hall. "I'd need a medical note for that."

"You have your prescription, right?"

"I just keep renewing it. I think they'll need an actual," he takes a forced breath, "doctor's note."

The barrage of loud conversation from the multitudes of students crowding around the eight theatre entrance is unwelcome even to Otabek. Jabbering loudly seems to be most students' way of dealing with pre-exam anxiety. It's 3:19 p.m.

"I should have brought my notes," JJ says. The hall is packed. It's not just their familiar block, but three others too, taking the same exam. He's stopped walking and Otabek is worried to look at him, his expression flinches at the volume in the room and he scuffs the hard floor with a worn shoe.

"Do you want to wait somewhere else?" Otabek asks. He gets a quick, peck-like nod.

Otabek scans the theatre; there are two hallways on either side; one is a loop-de-loop that goes to offices and study space; the other goes out to the Arts food court and a passage to Education block; at the end you can exit the building or take a pedway to Sciences.

Nothing to do but forge a path through the crowd to the loop-de-loop.

Otabek grabs JJ's hand and elbows and shoulders through the glomps of students laughing much too loudly for it to be honest (of course it's a facade, their own distraction at this point). He knocks into what he could swear is the same Herschel backpack a few times, separating students from their classmates (all trying to cling together on the same sinking raft, likely) and tugs JJ through to the old corridor, brick walls, water fountain here, clock there; the crowd thins as they move farther away from the exam halls and finally stop by an empty study space, where the noise from the theatre halls is just a static background murmur.

As he lets JJ's hand go, JJ exhales. His arms cross and wrap around himself.

"I need 72.7% on this or higher," he says, still scuffing the floor agitatedly with a shoe, then moving to kick a study cubicle repeatedly.

"You'll be fine," Otabek says.

JJ looks at him, foot stopped for now.

"You never say stuff like that," JJ says critically.

"Unless it's true."

JJ nods, closing his eyes. Otabek can tell he's trying to normalize his breathing. Looks like it's working.

And in 15 minutes, they're sitting on those old crappy chairs with desk space too small, 200 to a room, writing the first final.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Otabek feels confident. JJ emerges not feeling too bad either.

It's Thursday all too soon, and repertoire is an 8 a.m. exam. Luckily, it's all facts. They're there in your brain at any time of the day, or not at all.

Although Otabek walks out in a very critical mood, because the exam focused way too much on the Baroque era when that was only a third of the course, and he used the entire time to write (Otabek likes to write for half the time and check his work for the other half), he feels confident he's done enough.

When he gets back, JJ's gone practicing, and Otabek has lunch and goes to join him.

They end up almost fucking in the practice room and that's just not a good idea at all.

"I'm not going to stoop to the level of fucking in a school building," Otabek says stormily as they walk back, taking the indoor route _and_ wearing (each other's) scarves, suddenly super-protective of their vocal chords in the face of the concert and exams.

"The dorms are technically a school building," sings JJ.

Luckily they're in the pedway and only the large cacti in the corner can hear them.

Otabek gives him an unrestrained slap. JJ staggers off-course.

"God, I gotta join your workout program," he says. "What Otabek Altin lacks in height, he makes up for in strength!"

"I'd better," mutters Otabek.

"The strength of his commitment, that is! To not fucking in-"

Otabek jumps on JJ and slaps a hand fiercely over his mouth, because they're at the entrance to Arts now. JJ giggles (muffled) and grabs Otabek and carries him for several feet. Some kids sitting along the sides of the hall by the vending machines look at them. But Otabek doesn't notice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'll come back," Otabek tells his parents when they call that evening. "I miss you."

"Good," his mother says. "We've booked your flight for the 22nd. Did you get the email with the boarding pass?"

Otabek told them he was busy until the 21st. He doesn't feel particularly bad about that. He could have left on the Tuesday, but he wants to be there for JJ's last exam. So it was Thursday, or Friday, but Friday morning will give him time to pack, and have fun a bit, here.

"Beka, we will be talking about this issue with who you're dating. We've been through university just like you. We were once your age. We know what it's like. We just want the best for you, Beka." His mother crosses her arms, worriedly, to close the call.

"I know, Mom," Otabek says. No doubt this statement was crafted by both her and his father, who's beside her in solidarity. A smile, sad, comes to his face. "I'll see you soon."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For some reason, JJ is much less nervous for the concert. He insisted on going off to write history by himself, came back frazzled, but calmed down in good time for them to get dressed and get ready to go backstage.

Otabek buttons JJ's shirt to return the favor. Everyone's in white shirts and black slacks or skirts; Otabek will get a green suit jacket to wear for his solo. The theme has changed somewhat from Eros/Agape (which is now planned for the full year end, in April, since not enough material was ready and some opportunities for original pieces came up) and is now just sort of a general concert. Some upper years are miffed. Otabek doesn't care.

"You clean up so well," JJ says as Otabek completes the last button. They're wearing the same thing, they've got the same haircut (though JJ's is getting fluffy and scruffy and _cuter_ because he hasn't had it cut all semester, while Otabek has had his).

"So do you," Otabek returns.

Otabek stands on his tiptoes to kiss JJ.

Then they head out to the concert.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The concert goes over excellently, and everyone has to perform their encore piece (which everyone hates). Victor nails Stammi, Otabek's solo feels like a blur but everyone says he did well. Even Yakov spares him a complimentary word.

Oh, yes. And though after Stammi, the lights are supposed to dim for everyone to get back into place, someone in lighting was in on this plan to track Victor in a spot of blue as he walked around the piano and took Yuuri by the hand. The spotlight turned a warm magenta and they slow-danced off stage together.

Yakov spared them a not-quite-so-complimentary word for messing with the program. But then, backstage in the warm-up room, someone yelled something about _marriage_ and everyone started clapping while Yuuri and Victor were sitting, leaning against each other at the front of the room, and Yakov was fairly outnumbered.

"If they had gotten together before us, no one would even have noticed you and I," JJ tells Otabek.

And Victor and Yuuri (and the mysterious person in charge of lights whose name begins with Chu and rhymes with Lanont) do the same again on Saturday, where Otabek has a little bit of a fry in the first verse, but recovers enough for the second.

He feels mortified but JJ tells him it's never as bad as it seems and, listening to the playback, he's right.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They barely see each other Monday. Otabek rushes off after his KNES testing to the studio where JJ's doing his piano, in time to wish him well before the black box swallows him up.

Otabek listens outside the door for as long as he can before he should go warm up for his choral evaluation. It sounds alright.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

JJ accompanies Otabek to his final exam of the semester on Tuesday.

"Hands warm?" JJ asks. Otabek nods. "Fingers ready?"

Nod.

"Pieces memorized?"

Nod.

"Fast enough?"

Nod.

"Voicing?"

Nod.

They're outside the studio. It's the small performance hall, actually. The nicer room is used for piano majors only, not other majors taking it for side credits.

JJ wraps Otabek in a really tight hug.

"You're the best piano teacher I've ever had. Of course you'll do great."

"I'm the _only_ piano teacher you've ever had, you self-taught monster," Otabek says, squeezing words out, but he blushes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The magical feeling of next-level contentment that comes with completing the last exam washes over Otabek with a tingle of excitement in his limbs as he walks out. Surprisingly, JJ is sitting there, waiting.

"So?" JJ prompts excitedly. Otabek can't stop a half-grin.

"I did OK."

"Aw, come on, Beka, I can tell, you know you did good."

The grin grows wider. "I'm done."

"You are," JJ agrees. "Wait, no, you better not be. You better accompany me tomorrow."

Otabek rolls his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

JJ's most important exam is scheduled for 3:30 in the afternoon. Popular time. Otabek slept in (well, his version is just waking up super often but going back to sleep anyways). When he got up, JJ was stressed as he had been right before theory. And that was only just after 10 in the morning.

"Why are you so worried about this one? It's your major. You're good at it," Otabek says. He's frustrated, frustrated that he can't understand what or why JJ's feeling now.

"I only needed a 78 for piano. Because it's only weighted 3.5. For voice I need, oh god, I need an 87. Preferably a 90+. It's weighted 4.3. And there's no buffer assignment marks or anything I grabbed hundys on," JJ runs on. He's sitting on the couch with his phone, jiggling his leg incessantly. "And I flunked Stammi last time. And they'll remember that. God, Victor does it so well. I need a 3.7. I need that 3.7." He gets up and starts pacing.

So they go for a walk around campus. It's incredibly boring, and not even that will loosen JJ up. He refuses lunch, and Otabek just gets a Vietnamese sub he can eat as they walk.

They return after awhile (it's snowing heavily) and Otabek goes to his (former) room to work on a track for a while, wondering if JJ will calm down if left alone for a spell.

Nope.

1:30 and JJ's still jittery, sitting with his chin on his knuckles and his elbows on his knees.

Otabek sits with him.

"If I seem cold, it's just because, I don't understand why you're like this, and I don't know how to help," Otabek explains.

"I don't know either," JJ says. "God, I feel sick."

2:30 and they go to warm up in an available practice room (not the one they almost fucked in).

JJ's falling off the pitches because his breath control is totally not there, as Otabek hits the successive keys.

"It's fine, let's just run through Stammi," Otabek says. Looking at JJ's struggling expression, he's got a bad feeling about this proposition.

"No! I can't - it's, it's pointless - I'm gonna flop this, I'm gonna lose the money all myothergradeswon'tevencount," JJ bursts out, words slurring, _oh hell, he's a mess._ He sort of crumples to the floor. "I can't! I can't! They -" And that's all he can say because he's just gasping for air, his throat stopping up, working against him.

Otabek goes to him and grabs him, tries to open him up, but JJ's not going to give.

"JJ. Jean. Jean! Keep it together!" he says.

JJ continues to heave for breath. Otabek forces him back against a piano leg. His face is sheer panic, his eyes not focusing on anything, not seeing Otabek.

"Jean, breathe," Otabek says, forcefully. He's returned with continued, jerking gasps. Just enough air to keep conscious, little enough to keep desperate. In his grip, JJ shakes.

Each passing second shunts more worry onto Otabek. He keeps pleading with JJ, whose eyes are squinched up and still looking past Otabek, tears starting to leak from their corners; his gasps cycle faster and shallower to longer and shaky, giving some hope before returning to the height of panic; through his nose sometimes, through his mouth. Heartstopping intermissions where his chest stutters up and down but there's nothing, no sound, and he might be choking on his own fear.

It's been too long. It's been too long. This is the longest one yet. Otabek's heart and mind is racing. He releases his death hold, pulls JJ in, his arms tight around him. Now he's as close as possible, he can feel the pounding, racing heart, and JJ's tremors transfer to his skin, the breaths fighting to be felt by both bodies. He's as close as possible to the danger, to the discomfort, to everything he's not ready for.

But it's his choice.

Another long inhale stretches painfully, a tense freezing, but it struggles back out in a cough, jerked violently back in, stuttered back out in more coughs. Otabek releases JJ again, pushing him back, _breathe, breathe, come on Jean, come back to me._

JJ's eyes struggle to refocus, but he's breathing now, the harsh noise of air pushing past constricted passages, there are unintentional squeaking gasps as he manages _g-g-g-god, bek-beka,_ keels over onto his hands and knees, desperately scratching with one hand at his throat. Otabek swiftly catches and restrains that gesture.

"Come on, come on," Otabek's still murmuring as water tracks down JJ's cheeks and he pulls him back up to look at him.

"S-s-sorry, o-oh g-g-god," JJ stutters between frantic breaths, but they get steadier and deeper each time, they're returning to baseline, fought in between by coughs. "Should-d-d-dh've taken m-m-m-my meds-"

"Stop with that already," Otabek says. "Sh. Sh." He returns him to an embrace, if only to feel the panic leave, his body shaking still but his heart slowing, chest rising and falling more to rhythm against Otabek.

"S-sorry," JJ says again.

Otabek waits.

Time passes.

Reversal.

Slowly, JJ loosens. Peels away.

He's looking down. Hands on thighs as he sits on his heels in front of Otabek, who lets out his own breath he's been holding.

There's only the shaky sound of air in and out of JJ's lungs, the coughs in intermission, and Otabek doesn't know how to break this terrible tension of JJ looking _down_ and not _at Otabek_ almost like he's ashamed - he _is,_ it radiates off him - but he won't look up. Otabek's throat dries up, he doesn't know what to do.

"Why d-do you love me," JJ says, and Otabek sees the dark grey-blue carpet below him splotch darker with tears.

"What?" Otabek says.

"Why," JJ says. "Do you love me?"

When he finally looks up at Otabek, Otabek can almost hear his own heart splinter, because _damn JJ and his honesty,_ because it's all over his beautiful face, desperation, confusion. His blue eyes are painfully gathered up below and dragged up above by his brow. They glint with questions Otabek wants him to never think of.

"I have nothing. I'm broke and s-so's my family. If I even get this d-degree which isn't all that likely I'll keep being broke and I'm nothing, nothing special, there are tons of people who are better singers, and I just keep going and you have to do this-" (his voice breaks) "-for me, be here when-"

"Jean-Jacques Leroy," Otabek says, using the full name to buy himself time to find what to say, then cupping JJ's face in his hands, "I don't have to. I want to. Money's not what I want. Some talent to show off is not what I want. You're . . . what I want." It comes out rougher than he intended, stitched together. But it's the truth, in JJ's style.

"Oh," is all JJ says. There's something that melts off, runs down, _flies away_ off his face and posture. Relaxation sets in, an assurance. Otabek absorbs the mirrored sentiment. His heart swells with the self-truth JJ's revealed to him. So he gains something here, as well: the final, ultimate knowledge that he's a better man than all his doubts.

JJ leans his forehead against Otabek's. "Me too, you."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

3:15 p.m. and they're on their way to the exam room.

"Now is the time to sing your stupid theme song," Otabek says.

JJ's definitely looking better, but too meek to be singing Stammi Vicino. His cheeks are red from scrubbing. He cleaned himself up a bit.

"You hate that song," JJ says.

"I never have said such a thing."

"Yeah, but I know you hate it."

"I do," Otabek admits. "From a musical standpoint."

"I would, too," JJ says grudgingly.

"Just . . . sing it in your head."

They make it to the exam room.

They make it in the exam.

JJ makes it through the technique.

The vocalise.

The recitative.

List A is a little shaky, his voice bounces back from the coughing fit.

List B is strong.

Otabek receives the nod from JJ.

Legato opening for Stammi.

He comes in on time and they snap in together. They run on the same tempo. They rise and fall with the same breath, the same dynamic.

It's just as beautiful as when Otabek first heard it. But now; it's not so longing. It's fiercer. It's sharper, in its clarity.

_Partiamo insieme, ora sono pronto -_

and JJ holds the last note, vibrato vibrant till the end -

_Let's leave together, now I'm ready -_

and, if the adjudicators don't like it, Otabek rethinks, damn them all to hell.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They're both too exhausted to do anything Wednesday night.

They sleep in Thursday, tangle out into the kitchen at 11 a.m., decide they're going out for brunch. Otabek's turned his car back in so they take the train, go to Cora's. Surrounded by the bright and cheery drawings of fruit and breakfast foods on the wall, they grin and eye each other over coffee (JJ) and water (Otabek).

"Hey, want to go skating today?"

"Sure."

They google map an outdoor rink, complete with skate rentals.

"Invite anyone else?" Otabek as they walk to the park pavillion, arm in arm, from the train station. Being a weekday, it's pretty quiet out.

"Everyone else is probably in bed with a hangover. Skate for a bit first?"

They lace up and go out on the pond. The air's brisk and chill, but it's not too cold to skate. Besides a mother and her 6-year-old, no one else is out. JJ waves to the pair. "Hi Emerson! Hi Kaylene." He skates up, hands in pockets, stops with ease and chats with them for a bit. Otabek does warmup loops around the rink; it's been awhile since he's skated (last winter). Apparently, the mother-and-son attend the music volunteer thing JJ does.

Otabek bookmarks it in his mind to try that sometime.

Rejoining Otabek, JJ leads him as they lap lazily around the pond. First forwards, then backwards, pivoting effortlessly.

"I only skate maybe once or twice a winter," Otabek explains his stiffness, though it's quickly melting away as his brain pulls up the _How to Skate_ instructions from somewhere in a dusty corner of his motor cortex.

"I played atom, peewee, bantam, midget, double A," JJ says.

"What?"

"Hockey!" JJ spreads his arms. Off to the side of the pond there's a net on the snowy bank and inside the pavillion there _was_ hockey equipment for rental. He seems to remember something and drops his arms. "I might've kept playing through high school, but . . . it's fucking expensive."

"Oh," Otabek says. They don't need to dwell on that the day after finals. "Should we get other people down here to play?"

"You know how to play?"

"Not really," Otabek says. "How hard can it be? put the puck in the net."

"But can ya skate backwards?" JJ shreds off in reverse down the ice, executing some tight turns, and zips back around in record time.

"Not like that," Otabek says. He tries. "Not even."

"Oh well, we'll have fun." JJ's pulling his phone out of his pocket, fingers flying.

By 1 o'clock or so, Sara's there, Victor and Yuuri, Leo, some other kids from other faculties, and they have a very casual game of 3 - on - 3 on half the ice, sometimes growing to the normal 5 - on - 5 when people want to join. Turns out Victor played hockey, too (figures, he's Russian), so of course he and JJ have to be on opposite teams. They spat it out in good fun, going back and forth, dekeing, chucking slapshots as hard as they can - checking each other (into the snowbanks) though they're not wearing equipment at all.

Another variant is Victor and JJ versus everyone else. Victor and JJ win.

JJ's so natural with stickhandling and _skating with a stick_ (Otabek finds it awkward; well it is his first time) and it pairs well with the playful fight and enthusiasm he has for the sport. Otabek likes when he raises his stick of the ice and glides in a wide circle to meet where some other arts kid has called the next face-off. He likes the shine in his eye and grin when he sends Victor into the snow, or Victor sends him. There's unrestrained yelling. JJ's his usual boisterous self. "ICING! ICING!" he'll holler, pointing a finger and laughing at someone who's skating away to grab the puck as it interrupts the other half of the ice.

Victor's got a neat little wrist shot that's hard to see coming. Sometimes he'll shoot on goal and people only realize it's gone in after it happens and when JJ sees it he chucks his stick into the snowbank, throws up his hands, and does a big loop around Viktor, ending with a prayer-hands gesture.

On the other hand, Viktor will be chasing JJ and the puck, and JJ will deke Viktor out until he's rushing one way and JJ's shooting the other, and Viktor will just hit his stick on the ice and say, "Get on Team Canada already!" and JJ will say something in a ridiculous tone like, "I already was, back in my junior days, I quit because I was too good for them, now I just model for beer ads. Haven't you seen this famous face at your local bus stop?"

Breaths puff and stay in the air. Slap of fiberglass on pucks, fiberglass on ice. Shouts, exclamations.

When they play on the opposite team, JJ will make it his goal to shred a floof of ice shavings at Otabek if he stops in the vicinity. He'll also deke and not shoot, just cackle and loop around the net, dance around whoever's there (showoff!) until Victor stops him and challenges him for the puck.

Once or twice Otabek and Yuuri make eye contact, and somehow that manages to communicate _they're both ridiculously skilled compared to us, and being ridiculous about it too._

Eventually some people leave and some people hear about the maple sugar event a distance through the park and they go there, snow cones with maple syrup. So the afternoon passes leisurely in the company of others and when they get back to the dorms it's near 6 o'clock.

JJ sighs as he flops down on the couch. "What's for dinner?"

"Make pancakes?" Otabek says, putting away a couple dishes.

"One last time," JJ declares dramatically. They do, together. It takes a long time, a perfect time.

"I'll be sore tomorrow," JJ says as they stretch out on the couch, after dinner and cleaning up, after Otabek's packed, watching The Punisher's newest episode. "Haven't skated in a while."

". . . . Want to be even more sore," Otabek says.

JJ turns to him with a sly smile.

"What are you saying?"

So they end up on the bed and JJ says, _don't worry, you won't hurt me._ Otabek's still worried about it. JJ grins. _Can see why you would be though._ JJ's got a bit of length on him, but Otabek's got him in girth, or, _sheer fucking impressiveness,_ as JJ says.

Otabek struggles to find the right angle as JJ's splayed on his hands and knees and Otabek's behind him, but with JJ's reactions he's guided to the right spot. (The first thrust that finds that place he's rewarded with a very vocal _nnnaah!_ from JJ, and he knows it must be good because it's incoherent.) Something special to bring JJ to a place where he's completely lost his always-ready comments and can only produce raw exclamations of pleasure. But though the view of JJ's back tense as he supports himself and the way their hips and ass meet and adjust, desperate to decrease any empty space between, is making it hard to even considering doing anything else, Otabek goes until he senses JJ's close and pulls out, physically flips him onto his back, because he needs to see JJ's lovely red face and chest and cock. Oh, it's hard for him, too, to make the switch. He's sweating and he pushes his hair back briefly. He's doing this for the view.

"Bekawhat'reyou," JJ pants, clearly cheated, but Otabek's quickly leveraging JJ's hips off the bed, he's between his long legs, he's back inside him. JJ told him before they started that he'd probably get very, very wet because his body's just like that with this kind of thing and Otabek's glad he's flipped him over, because JJ was right, precum slicks heavily down JJ's stiff length and pools and drips where Otabek's entered him. The moment stalls motion, something heady flushes through Otabek as he tries to comprehend, absorb this experience, this fucking glorious human before him, but he's just as desperate as JJ and the slant of his hips and the promise of everything drives him forward again.

JJ's hand immediately grabs for his dick, for _release,_ but Otabek takes his wrists and pins them down, panting, smirking, leaning as far over as he can while still hitting where he wants to, as JJ's moaning sharp and hard in spurts, biting his lip, hair splayed darkly on the white sheets.

"I want you, to come, just, with me, in you," Otabek says, feeling his own thrusts start to judder with the expenditure and need, there's only the briefest of warning tremors before JJ screams or maybe doesn't, Otabek can't really tell because the moment's too intense to extricate one sense from the other (the smell of sweat and him, the feel of their skin and the heat, the sight the sound the taste). JJ comes hard, on his stomach and chest and, moments after, the sudden tightness of JJ around his cock brings Otabek to his last as well. Vision white for a few out-of-body seconds, he comes inside of JJ and loses his mind and ability to tell any kind of time.

All he knows is eventually he pulls out, collapses on top of JJ and they're both a mess, breathing heavily, JJ's back to talking of course, _ha, ha, fuck,_ is all he says with a half grin that's softened by the cheeks, still flushed.

Otabek clocks up the VARM a couple notches.

At some point after cleaning up and settling down into each other's arms, Otabek says, _I'm leaving tomorrow morning. I'll miss you. I don't want to. I love you._

_I want to stay._

He looks at JJ. And he trusts whatever JJ will say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well . . . there u have it


	14. Epilogue

_Go. I mean, if we're solid, you'll know, after spending some time apart._ That's what JJ says to Otabek.

JJ intimated he was sticking around campus for the holidays, but Otabek bought him a return ticket back home to Quebec and told Leo to give it to him, after Otabek left.

Once Otabek lands back in Almaty, Leo texts to say it's worked.

Otabek has a good time, not a great time. He has talks with his parents. He is introduced to many girls at social functions. He hangs out with Alina. He sees Alexey, who's still a good friend, and they go to the old club a few nights. Alen is engaged now and, well, Otabek just doesn't like being a third wheel.

His parents make a point of doing traditional family activities. It's all very smart. Otabek is very busy for several days.

But it all has to come to a head; they have a serious talk on December 28th. The issue of money comes up.

They'll keep paying as long as Otabek realizes this is a _phase_ he must give up sooner or later. Something he can't expend any resources in. They're not commanding him to break it off with JJ, because they can't. _But_ _he will, if he is to show any sense and any fruit of the work and care they've put into raising Otabek._ They want him to move dorms, but he reminds them he signed for both semesters. He has to come home every break he gets, it's insinuated.

Suddenly he decides to leave early, because that terrible, acidic snake is starting to wind in his gut again, coiling tighter with every insinuated demand and not-so-insinuated judgement, every useless effort and gesture his parents make.

He's gotten used to JJ and all his noise and honesty and _home_ is now an unpleasant, if not unexpected, culture shock.

This is the most tense conversation he'll have the whole year. At the breakfast table, _I'm flying out early, today at 2:15._

_Why? Where are you going? Back to the university?_

_Yes. I want to work on some pieces before school starts again._

Both of those statements are true. He will, eventually, return to the university. He does want to work on some pieces before everything starts. More like, perform some side pieces he _has_ been working on, for a certain someone.

Of course his parents aren't stupid. They know something's up. But his mother has to leave on her own flights and his father's working at that time, so leave it to them if they want to sleuth out the truth. If they do, well, they'll have to guess at what drove Otabek to this. It should be obvious.

Alexey drops him off at the airport.

He spends the flight tapping out the chords, putting his fingers where the keys should be, on his jeans. Perfectly timed. The slow start, the quiet, barely murmuring rise and fall. That's where he's been for most of this semester. But he's found what he's looking for, he's gotten there, he steps off the plane and picks up his baggage at the carousel. There's the marking for the key change, there's where it begins to move _un peu moins lent (dans une expression allant grandissant_ [a little less slow, with growing expression]) _-_ and there's JJ, waiting for him in Arrivals, and he runs into his arms.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

[<some art>](https://sciencemakedrugtho.tumblr.com/post/161636227721/the-fic-is-over-and-here-is-a-finale-art)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> irl fact about me: i'm trash for Debussy. I've learned Jardins and most of Pagodes and even though I have a Chopin and Beethoven to practice, I'm... learning La Cathedrale Engloutie now.... wow (its easy tho)  
> um, yea! Thanks to all the readers and commenters and people who leave kudos! Any final thoughts? And if you want a completely different story feel free to read my other fic which I shall return to now. oops, JJbek just completely derailed me working on that one for awhile.  
> my offer still stands. I will give a prize if anyone knows what uni this is based off.


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